Manifest Destiny
by Fatality
Summary: High Prince Telamont and the Twelve Princes of Shade work to conquer the Heartlands while cultivating alliances with both Waterdeep and Silverymoon, but the High Prince is ambitious and aspires to acquire much more. At the top of his priority list is recovering the Nether Scroll that resides within the city of Manifest, and securing the partnership of the doppelganger Phendrana.
1. Chapter 1

One: Fringe

The flash of blue-white light was the last thing Xarroth saw before his entire world ended. It wasn't at all what he had anticipated the end of his life would be like, just a flash so intense that it might have been a solar flare, and then nothing. No light, only an impenetrable darkness—no sound, only a quiet so profound that it pressed in upon his sensitive ears like an almost tangible weight.

This moment of complete and utter nonexistence lasted for just that—merely an instant, barely the span of a heartbeat, but it would forever remain the most terrifying moment in all of Xarroth's life. Not only that, but it would serve as the catalyst for every thought, every action, every life-altering decision that would follow thereafter.

Suddenly, where before there had existed only a maddening silence, Xarroth's ears were filled with a rushing sound that he knew, instinctively, was neither random nor coincidental. His arrogant, brilliant mind cast all around for an explanation, until his failed heart sputtered its first feeble beat in what seemed to be an eternity and at last he could give the rushing sound a name.

Blood coursing through his veins.

There was no melody and no harmony, no point and no counterpoint, but to Xarroth it was the sweetest, most delectable music he had ever heard. He greedily cherished every beat of his heart as it slowly awakened the rest of his body to life, marveling at how strong each new beat seemed when compared to its predecessor. The sound of his blood pumping into every crevice of his being became central to his universe, more important than sun and sky and stars, and then something miraculous happened.

His lungs drank in their first breath of air since his life had ended; with the delicious taste of oxygen lingering upon his tongue, Xarroth opened his eyes.

The ovular chamber that served as his private quarters, and all of the trinkets lining the walls and the shelves of that space—everything that had molded him into who he was, all that made him a _person_—seemed completely obsolete now. He glanced around the room that had been his safe haven for the last decade of his training, and deemed it not only unnecessary, but unworthy. Glancing down he noticed that the outline of his own body was still clearly visible, the indentation from where he had fallen still easy to see in the rug he often used for meditation.

This was negligible. He no longer needed any of these things. He had already taken all that was necessary from the scene: the memory of the blue-white light felling him, knowing that that had been the end of his life, and the understanding that not only had he somehow been granted a second chance, the man who had cast the spell had intended it to destroy Xarroth for good.

Yuki, the man who had taken him in and taught him the subtle yet devastating art of spellcasting, the man whom he had loved as a child loves a father, had attempted to end his life.

Xarroth did not question the logic behind Yuki's decision or even try to rationalize the choice. All he knew was that this was an indiscretion that he was not prepared to abide. He had endured his own death—could Yuki do the same?

The answer, as it turned out, was no.

A powerful and capable master of the arcane arts Yuki may have been before, but Xarroth's newfound appreciation for life was more than a match for the now-withered wizard. He regretted the deed now, more and more as he wended his way aimlessly through the lightless and uncharted labyrinthine passageways of the Underdark—not the deed itself, of course, but the manner in which he had performed it. It had been over before he had begun to enjoy it, really—he had been so consumed with his anger, so tormented by the feeling of betrayal, that he hadn't tempered his desire to just murder his old mentor and be done with it in order to truly appreciate the subtleties of the act. In the future, Xarroth promised himself, he would practice some self control. It would be needed if he truly wished to savor the shameless pleadings and final screams of his adversaries.

All these things Xarroth considered as he wandered through the vast expanse of the World Beneath the Surface, trusting to his intuitive sense of direction to deliver him unto the place where he was to begin his new life. It needed to be someplace grand, he knew, but with a touch of chaos and a sense of the macabre. For without that sense of order unrealized, how would Xarroth find the drive to establish himself and rise to prominence and power?

Young and inexperienced in both the ways of the Art and the upbringing of his Imaskari ancestors, self-assured Xarroth still knew precisely what he had been searching for the moment he set his eyes upon it.

At first it seemed to be simply a stretch of wood, a forested area made fearsome by virtue of the fact that all of its trees were devoid of foliage and had a skeletal quality to them. A mournful moaning issued from the depths of the wood, a sound like a lonesome beast even though the wind did not blow, but soon Xarroth was able to pry his eyes from that sight and observe what lay beyond. For there was some sort of hamlet on the other side of the trees, though at present it seemed lifeless.

Great towers sprang from the featureless ground upon which he trod, structures made of ivory, alabaster, jet and onyx; their architecture was unlike any Xarroth had ever glimpsed in his fifty-nine years of life, or would see ever again. As he crested a rolling hill in the mundane gray expanse south of the eerie wood he was afforded a better view of the place; wide cobblestoned streets constructed of large white marble stones joined each of the unmatching but complimentary buildings, sconces lit with magical fire lined every street corner, and peoples of all races intermingled peaceably within the winding avenues. Unexplainably, many of these individuals seemed to be somewhat translucent—they were clearly beings still in existence, but somehow less so than Xarroth himself.

And as he watched their interactions, narrow-minded Xarroth came to understand: these translucent creatures were actually the souls of people that had passed beyond the World of the Living, yet lingered still on the metaphorical fringe that separated the Material Plane and the Land of the Dead, unwilling yet to pass on to their final fates.

Xarroth's knees almost buckled despite himself, and he had to labor for many long moments to catch his breath. He had heard of this place in Yuki's teachings, but never had he allowed himself to believe that such a city actually existed.

The final way-station, the gate to the Veil of Souls. The only place in all of Faerun where living and dead could co-exist.

The city of Manifest.

Xarroth sat upon the gently-sloping hill overlooking Manifest for many hours, slender chin balanced thoughtfully in one long-fingered hand, mulling over his options. Undoubtedly this was the place he had been meant to find, and now that he had arrived he needed to devise some manner of grand scheme to reshape the future of this fabled city. But how to go about it?

As much as he hated to admit it even to himself, Xarroth was only a novice spellcaster who had completed barely one-third of his mage's training at Yuki's instruction; while he was devoted to furthering his talents in the Art, he no longer had the means to continue his studies and knew no one within Manifest's walls whose talents he could exploit to his benefit. As yet he was on his own, and until he came up with some sort of master plan, his newfound existence was being wasted.

Begrudgingly he dredged up Yuki's earliest teachings, the first tendays the old man had spent introducing a much younger, more impatient Xarroth to the many sacred sects of magic that coalesced into the harmonious whole that was the Weave. A few of these stood out keenly in Xarroth's mind—the scriptures of Ancient Imaskar, laid down by his ancestors many thousands of years ago, and one other, a form of magic that was even today considered too powerful to be incorporated into the teachings of most cultures.

The very antithesis of the Weave, created by the dark queen Shar in her age-old feud against her divine sister Selûne—the Shadow Weave.

The magic practiced only by the archwizards of the lost empire of Netheril.

It was perfect, Xarroth assured himself with a thin-lipped smile. The Netherese Imperium was mighty, so much so that it had survived a near-apocalypse and was even now threatening to become a major power in Faerun. All across the face of Toril, those less learned in the ways of the Art than he were endeavoring to locate a lost piece of Netherese magic, knowing that even a scrap of that power could be enough to reshape the world as it was known today.

Fitting for someone who had championed death, Xarroth thought smugly.

Rising from the gray hill he dusted himself off and made his way toward Manifest, the first stages of the plan already forming as he took his first steps. Netherese archwizards had penned their arcane findings for later generations to study, texts reverently referred to as the Nether Scrolls. It didn't matter how, but one way or another Xarroth knew he would come into possession of one of those scrolls. With it, he would complete his training and transcend his feeble title of apprentice until he had risen above all others who dabbled in the Art.

He would begin his uprising in Manifest, no matter what it took.

Perched precariously upon a spire of Piran Sedestadel, her black velvet wings wrapped comfortingly around her own delicate shoulders, the gloaming Zerena Desini plucked out a somber arietta on her miniature harp. Her sorrowful eyes were not upon the streets below, interestedly observing the many strange faces as they came and went in Manifest, but upon her own dexterous fingers—pale and luminous as they had been in life, but slightly see-through.

She wondered if she would ever get used to the sight.

It wasn't time to depart Manifest yet, though her weary spirit often cried for her to make her last journey—none of the others had passed on yet, she knew, despite the fact that she had not had direct contact with any of them in… how much time had passed? Two weeks? Three? If their restless souls were content to wait in this place, she would endure also. Even though it often caused her great remorse to remain, and the longing to pass through the Veil of Souls intensified every day, she knew that that desperation would increase tenfold for the one she would leave behind if she chose to depart prematurely.

So Zerena sat upon her familiar but lonely perch, absentmindedly making despondent music, and waited for Phendrana to find his way to Manifest for the very last time.


	2. Chapter 2

Two: The Exalted and the Condemned

Thultanthar, the great floating enclave that had survived the Netherese cataclysm known disgracefully as Karsus's Folly, was rarely a celebratory community. Owing mostly to their reclusive and militaristic ways, the ten thousand Shadovar that called the City of Shade their home weren't exactly accustomed to letting down their guard for even a single day of revelry. The only exception to this unspoken rule was the birthday of Lord Shadow, or as he was known to the more common, uninformed Shadovar, High Prince Telamont.

As enthusiastic as they were to celebrate the birth of their father, the Twelve Princes of Shade were not about to neglect their duties to Thultanthar by allowing the security of the Palace Most High to grow lax. It was through their constant perseverance and vigilance, therefore, that Hadrhune, the Right Hand of the High Prince, and Yder, the Sixth Prince of Shade, were watching the moment that the wanderer Ishka took his first step into the grand ballroom.

"What do we know of him?" Hadrhune demanded, never one for subtlety.

Yder leaned his shoulder against the far banister, observing Ishka's every movement with an expression of boredom. They were watching from the westernmost balcony of the grand ballroom, just minutes before the festivities were scheduled to begin. "Not enough. I have spoken with Twelfth Prince Brennus on this matter, but as of yet his answers are little more than speculation and guesswork. All we have gleaned thus far is that Ishka should have passed out of this world many, many years ago; he is clearly being kept alive by some magical means, but precisely how, my young brother was not certain. We will continue to observe him until we have the answers we seek." Seeing that this answer did not appease Hadrhune even the slightest, Yder scoffed negligently and added, "Why do you trouble yourself with this? He is a nuisance, certainly, but a threat to Shade? Surely not."

Hadrhune cast the sixth prince a withering look, gouging the shaft of his treasured darkstaff with his thumbnail until shadow essence seeped from the indentation. "We once said the same about Phendrana, and now look—the Most High wishes not only to reward him a place in Shade Enclave for his services, but to make him a shade. And Phendrana is a mortal. This man Ishka is an unknown factor. It would be wise for us to keep an eye on him until we are certain of his origin and motives."

Snickering, Yder shoved away from the balcony's edge and trod toward the hallway. "Do as you please. The Most High is in no danger here. This is his seat of power, the one place in all of Faerun where his substantial powers are at their strongest. What have we to fear from one mysterious wayfarer?"

Hadrhune didn't answer right away, too intent on marking Ishka's step—measured, cautious, almost planned as he meandered a little too easily through the hundreds of Shadovar packed into the grand ballroom. It wasn't until Sixth Prince Yder had long since departed and the gong signaling the start of the birthday celebration was struck that the seneschal growled, "What indeed."

The now-infamous doppelganger known as Phendrana did not take note of Ishka's presence when he swept into the hall—which was probably best, as he was still shell-shocked from their first meeting and might have suggested to the rest of his company that they depart at once. Despite the joyous atmosphere, Phendrana's eyes and thoughts were actually quite far away, focused not on the situation at hand but remembering with almost fanatical longing the moment in his not-so-distant past when he had held his six deceased loved ones in his arms.

Much had changed since his fateful journey to Manifest, but his desperate love for those six heroes had not. It was only because of his devotion to them, and their selfless endeavors, that he had reached this point in his life at all. Phendrana was a curious creature who had always wanted to be… well, not revered, exactly, but the sort that others could count on never to fail when aid was needed. He had made it his sworn mission from a very early age to always offer his unusual talents to others.

Though his intentions were good beyond question or reproach, his timing generally was not. Xanther Silvermoon, Vadania Frostflower, Ristel Clearsea, Alax Targren, Zerena Desini, and Kiora Silvenstorm, all renown heroes in their own right, had all been struck down before their life's labors had been completed—and each one of them had passed away in Phendrana's arms. In his grief, the doppelganger's brilliant mind had fragmented itself; in order to keep those six kindred spirits with him always, he had assimilated their unforgettable personalities into his own.

It was common misconception that Phendrana was out of his mind—who could be considered perfectly sane, functioning in every day society with no less than seven personalities in his mind? As his new friends had seen, however, nothing could be further from the truth.

Alvaro Rosalles, a mercenary of the Sword Coast and captain of the Baldur's Gate vessel _Water Falcon_, watched his lover concernedly but did not interfere. Since meeting those dead heroes in the city of Manifest, Phendrana had been prone to bouts of sudden and unexplainable thoughtfulness, and for their part the others did their best not to interrupt his musings.

"It is only a natural part of the grieving process," the tiefling Aidan had told him, in a rare moment of compassion. "He feels as though he has lost them all over again."

Rosalles was just feeling sorry for Phendrana, and Phendrana was just beginning to exhibit his familiar signs of depression, when from a location unseen a gong was struck. They both glanced up in time to see a man they did not know (but whose identity they could easily guess) step through a richly-woven violet curtain and face them all with arms wide in welcome.

_There can be no mistake_, the familiar voice of Alax murmured into Phendrana's mind, and the doppelganger was nodding his agreement before the half-drow had even finished explaining. _That is the ruler of this great magocracy… High Prince Telamont Tanthul himself._

This was not an incorrect assumption. The very same Lord Shadow of legend, High Prince Telamont remained the oldest and, indisputably, the strongest shade in all of Thultanthar. He was almost solely responsible for saving the thousands of Netherese descendents that had survived Karsus's Folly by launching Thultanthar into the Plane of Shadow, where the city would remain for the next seventeen hundred years. Through Telamont's perseverance and Second Prince Rivalen's constant divinations with the dark goddess Shar, Thultanthar had eventually returned to the Material Plane, and ever since that day the ruling body of the City of Shade had embarked upon a relentless campaign of reclaiming their fabled homeland.

Watching the tall, lithe, shadow-swathed monarch as he surveyed each and every individual gathered in the grand ballroom, Phendrana remembered with loathing the day the delegation from Shade had met with the Lords of Waterdeep to discuss an alliance. Not only had the Princes of Shade treated the Lords of Waterdeep with a level of respect the Lords did not deserve, the ruling body of Waterdeep had made jests at the proposal and sneered away the offer. After thwarting Ishka's attempts to waylay Phendrana, Twelfth Prince Brennus had assured the company that not only would they be told of the outcome of those negotiations, they would likely be present when the follow-up meeting took place.

All of these musings flashed through Phendrana's brilliant mind in the span of about two seconds, the amount of time it took Telamont to sweep the grand ballroom with his shrewd gaze before he spoke.

"Welcome! It does my heart good to see you all gathered here for this joyous occasion. Nothing pleases me more than to see our great community gathered together in all its glory. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for extending your greetings of love and devotion for this, the day of my birth. Now please, partake of my table and enjoy this reunion, my friends."

Then the Most High took his seat in a high-backed onyx throne encrusted with dark-colored gems, leaning immediately to his left to speak with his second-eldest son, Rivalen.

Phendrana's eyes swept the row of fifteen elaborate thrones lining the northern end of the grand ballroom, carefully observing the face of each seated shade and committing each to memory. Three of the thrones, as yet, stood empty—the one directly to the High Prince's right, and the two at each of the far ends of the line. Vaguely the mindmaster wondered which members of the Shadow Court were missing, but the thought vanished from his mind the moment his eyes alighted upon the keen bronze-eyed gaze of Twelfth Prince Brennus.

_You are enjoying the festivities?_

Phendrana blinked once confusedly. Brennus's good-natured facial expression had not changed even the slightest bit—had he imagined hearing the prince's voice?

A feather of laughter wafted through the mindmaster's consciousness, followed by the words, _Have you forgotten the strength of your own considerable talents, Phendrana?_

The doppelganger shook his head once vigorously to clear it; the crystal dangling off his circlet bounced its familiar, almost comforting weight against his forehead before he stretched his mental influence out to meet Brennus's. _I apologize. I'm afraid that this atmosphere is a bit overwhelming. I have never been around this many people in my natural form before._

Brennus stared evenly back, unerringly focused despite the fact that conversation had now struck up all around him. _And your discomfort has nothing to do with Ishka's presence?_

The Twelfth Prince shifted his line of sight, drawing Phendrana's eyes with his to a point not far away; the broad-shouldered warrior Ishka was seated at a table several hundred feet away, watching the High Prince and his sons with startling interest, not bothering to even pretend to engage those seated around him. Both the ghostwalker and the loremaster averted their eyes almost immediately, neither desiring to be discovered, locking gazes a second time almost at once.

_Now I am uneasy for two reasons,_ Phendrana admitted begrudgingly, and Brennus nodded once sagely as if he understood perfectly.

_I have learned a bit more concerning that one,_ the Twelfth Prince told him conspiratorially. _I could divulge my findings to you, if you wish._

_Now?_

Although wreathed in shadow, it seemed to Phendrana that Brennus cocked an eyebrow. _Perhaps I could meet you in one of the outer halls for a time, and we might talk together? _Seeing the mindmaster's protuberant eyes flit uncertainly toward Rosalles's face, Brennus smoothly added, _I will not demand much of your time, of course._

Phendrana couldn't think of any excuse valid enough to keep him from accepting the Twelfth Prince's invitation, and his curiosity for all things around him was often his greatest weakness; excusing himself politely from the nervous and half-hearted conversation his companions had struck up during his musings he picked his way gingerly through the tightly-packed tables, careful not to jostle any of the particularly surly-looking Shadovar as he passed. He could feel Rosalles's eyes, concerned and even suspicious, upon his back as he moved away, but did not turn back to regard him for fear of the judgment he would find in those eyes.

Somehow Brennus was in the hall and waiting patiently for him, despite the fact that Phendrana's table was much closer to the nearest adjoining hallway than the high table. They fell into companionable step at once, as though they were old friends.

"Your news?" Phendrana prodded, and the slightly-shorter man at his side exhaled with what seemed to be frustration.

"You are familiar with the many outlandish tales that surround the Witch-King Zhengyi, and Castle Perilous in the Bloodstone Lands?" Brennus began, with the air of one on the verge of telling quite a lengthy story.

The doppelganger nodded, but his face seemed uncertain. Brennus's face carried enough expression to ask Phendrana to voice his concerns without words, so Phendrana explained haltingly, "I believe I know it well enough. Zhengyi was a lich of unspeakable power, who terrorized the neighbor countries of Damara and Vaasa for decades before being cast down by King Gareth Dragonsbane and a secret organization of the paladin monarch's closest friends and advisors. Then Zhengyi managed a second coming by utilizing one of his own powerful magical items and sapping the life force of some nameless, unassuming individual in order to raise Castle Perilous once again. I have also heard that, after his final demise, Zhengyi was succeeded by another lich of equal strength, but I have come across no proof of these claims in my travels."

Brennus looked up at this, his eyes quite serious. "Those rumors are true. The lich was a drow by the name of Lim Tal'eyve, a name that should be known to even you."

It was true—the name struck a chord of recognition in Phendrana, strong enough for him to guess, "He was the leader of the male drow uprising that took place during Lolth's silence in the midst of the Time of Troubles, was he not?"

"The very same, though it seems that he was much more than that. Lolth, in her eternal endeavor to cause chaos and suffering, employed Lim Tal'eyve in his afterlife to accomplish some errand that, at this point, I can only speculate. Whatever the motivation, though, Lichdrow Tal'eyve's work brought him to the Bloodstone Lands, where he raised Castle Perilous from its ruinous state for the third time and built his seat of power. He created many items imbued with fell magic, as his kind seems to be so very fond of doing, and I have been able to trace the locations of a few of them in my studies. One of them in particular somehow fell to Ishka, who has been seduced by its power and now walks the Path of the Living, despite accounts that he should have passed beyond the Veil decades ago. Exactly what manner of magic it is that ties him to this world, or how it came to be in his possession, I do not know."

Phendrana paused mid-stride and glanced down at Brennus; by now they had turned fully to face one another, and both men wore expressions of intense thoughtfulness. "If what you say is true, and Ishka is continuously being revitalized through the dread magic of a lichdrow, it will take a power greater than my own to put an end to him—should he prove to be a threat to the City of Shade, that is."

Brennus waved one hand before him negligently and scoffed, as though the idea of even suggesting that a single man could somehow become a danger to Thultanthar was utterly ludicrous. "You needn't worry yourself, Phendrana. Ishka may have left you unsettled the day you and I crossed paths for the first time, but if what he exhibited was in fact the depth of his power he is no concern of ours."

"And if he possesses greater power than you have guessed, and becomes a menace to us all?"

The Twelfth Prince's eyes hardened, and Phendrana bit down hard on the inside of his lip. Perhaps they were on speaking terms, and perhaps Phendrana's relationship with Brennus was a little more laid-back than men of the loremaster's import generally tended to be with "common" men like Phendrana, but the mindmaster was no fool—he knew that if he crossed the Twelve Princes of Shade, his death would be swift and merciless.

The Twelfth Prince surprised him then by issuing a sigh of agreement. "If you are right, and this Ishka is powerful beyond my expectations… it will be dealt with accordingly. On that matter, you have the word of the Twelve Princes of Shade."

This vow, Phendrana thought, was a reassurance that he wasn't certain he deserved, so he bowed very low in thanks. "Your consideration means a great deal to me, Prince. I am not sure how I might thank you."

Brennus turned around and struck up a relaxed walking pace again, pointing them in the direction from which they had come and gesturing for the doppelganger to follow alongside him. "Continue to aid Shade Enclave as we move into the more, shall we say, _aggressive_ step in the process of negotiation, and do not forget about the generous proposal the Most High has made to you. He understands that such an offer takes careful consideration, but do not expect him to wait long."

Again, Phendrana could do nothing but bite back the rude string of comments that his six friends' voices attempted to convince his tongue to voice aloud. It was true that High Prince Telamont had expressed his interest in making Phendrana a shade, but at present Phendrana didn't yet feel ready to deal with that occurrence. It was a very serious decision, one that would surely alter his way of life forever, and he was positive he hadn't considered all of the benefits and ramifications of his two choices. Instead of giving the prince a verbal response, the mindmaster at last just nodded to show he understood.

Brennus smiled briefly to himself and melted into his own shadow, leaving Phendrana to make his way back into the grand ballroom as though he had been alone all the time.

"Make love to me," said Soleil Chemaut in her breathiest, most sensual voice, and the request was nearly enough to bring even the indomitable First Prince Escanor to his knees. Not that he would have much further to fall; the pair lay with their limbs entangled in a passionate embrace upon the mountebank's bed already.

Worried that he would crush the slight woman beneath him (for he towered well over seven feet and carried a great deal of muscle upon his warrior's frame, whereas Soleil was a lithe little doll of a half-elf, barely five and a half feet herself), Escanor declined his head to plant yet another kiss upon Soleil's perfect rose petal lips, marveling at her delectable taste—caught somewhere between the finest wine and the sweetest floral nectar. "Nothing would please me more—however, I must point out the lateness of the hour."

Soleil sighed but only tightened her arms around the First Prince, reluctant to release him now that she had him almost precisely where she wanted him. Still, it would be difficult to explain away their tardiness to the Most High—Telamont had the uncanny ability of knowing the truth of any situation, and thus knowing when he was being lied to. She hovered for a moment on the brink of indecision before giving him her answer—in the response of yet another heated kiss.

Escanor tore his lips from hers with a great amount of difficulty, though instead of putting a stop to the act altogether he moved his ebon-skinned lips down to her throat and kissed tenderly beneath her jaw line. The Left Hand of the Most High sighed her contentment, a sound that had the First Prince shuddering in anticipation.

"I would much prefer it if some urgent business did not await us elsewhere," he murmured insistently into the gentle crease of her snowy-white neck. "Especially since this is an experience we have not yet shared. I want to take my time with you."

Now it was Soleil's turn to tremble with the heat of her eagerness, but this was logic she could not deny—Escanor's reasoning, though disappointing, was sound as always. She shifted underneath him and started to push him away, already straightening the fine fabric of her jade green gown, but the First Prince caught hold of her hands and forced her to look him in the eye.

"Do not make the mistake of thinking that I do not desire this," he told her delicately, and Soleil believed him beyond any doubt; Escanor's voice veritably rang with the sincerity of his words. "Nothing could be further from the truth."

Smiling, the mountebank leaned back in for one last kiss, allowing her mouth to linger far longer upon his than she should have, given the pressing nature of their current situation. When at last she could bear to release him, she dismissed all of his doubts by saying, "I have never once doubted you, Prince—in fact, I agree with you. You are right—we should not let this longing ruin the importance of this event. There will be other moments."

"Moments that I will be sure to prolong," Escanor promised, his eyes smoldering, and it was all they could do to draw apart from one another without surrendering to their ever-insistent desires. "And you really must stop calling me Prince."

Soleil laughed, straightening the delicate crown of platinum and emerald gems that had very recently been the First Prince's courtship gift to her. "Yes, Prince."

Chortling companionably together they finished making themselves presentable; Escanor offered her his arm, and they shadow-walked right out of Villa Cloveri.

Learning that the Most High had charged Hadrhune with tending to Soleil's personal protection during the excavation in Anauroch's ruins, and that Hadrhune had all but ignored this request in favor of his own personal designs, had been the last straw for Soleil. Her relationship with the seneschal, always so strained because of its heavily secret nature, had ended when Hadrhune had been punished for his negligence. Escanor had been quick to offer her his shoulder but respectful of her emotional state, but her feelings for Hadrhune had dissolved swiftly the more time she spent in the company of the First Prince. Escanor was everything that Hadrhune was not, Soleil admitted privately—attentive, compassionate, and thoughtful, strong of arm when the need arose and fiercely loyal. In short, he was everything Soleil had desired from the very start.

Hadrhune, for his part, had not responded vindictively to the reports of Soleil fraternizing privately with the First Prince of the City of Shade, which surprised the mountebank to no end. Wrathful to the end, Hadrhune was never one to allow a conflict to pass without either coming to blows over it or at least expressing his disapproval of the matter first. The only change now was that the two never interacted unless they were negotiating a point of importance in the Most High's court, and it seemed that the seneschal had re-devoted himself to seeking the High Prince's favor. Nothing else seemed to matter to him now.

Their feet found the solid ground in one of the lesser-used corridors that served as a direct link between the grand ballroom and the inner sanctum of the Palace Most High. Soleil sighed in relief—only Hadrhune, Brennus, Fifth Prince Clariburnus, and the Tanthul Prince twins Mattick and Vattick knew that Escanor and Soleil were carrying on, and the mountebank was ever concerned with how the Most High would respond when, inevitably, the information reached his ears. The romantic involvement of one of the Princes of Shade was actually a matter of state—being first in line to inherit Telamont's throne in the unlikely event that the long-lived monarch passed away one day, Escanor was not permitted to marry anyone he wished.

Seeing that they were indeed alone Escanor turned to face her, leaning down with a smile of utmost contentment touching his lips as he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. It was brief and almost painfully sweet.

Then he snatched up her hand in his and, before Soleil could pluck up the presence of mind to protest, dragged her into the grand ballroom at his side!

High Prince Telamont, his senses honed with the clarity of a well-oiled machine, felt the extra-dimensional shift behind him when his eldest son shadow-walked into the near vicinity. He rose gracefully from his throne at Escanor's approach, and when he was only a few feet away Telamont could clearly hear, with his sensitive ears, that Soleil's suddenly terrified heart was now beating so quickly that it rather resembled a hummingbird's wing beats. Escanor practically dragged Soleil up onto the dias on which the high table had been placed, and trapped her expertly at his side with an arm slung around her diminutive shoulders.

Telamont's eyes slid from Soleil's petrified expression onto Escanor's radiant face, and his shadowy wisp of a heart jolted with pride at the sight. Not far away, Clariburnus's handsome face split into a jovial grin and Brennus clapped his hands together once in delight.

A hush came down in the grand ballroom, as though the lesser Shadovar nobles, the commoners, the merchants, the artisans, the military, and even the slaves were awaiting the wrath of their sovereign with bated breath. If they were hoping to see the mountebank chastised for consorting in such a private manner with the First Prince of their proud city, they were disappointed when, after a moment's contemplation, Telamont floated into place in front of the shell-shocked half elf and bent low to kiss her forehead lovingly.

Soleil's face reddened like the setting sun.

The High Prince then clapped his hand down upon his eldest son's shoulder, meeting Escanor's blazing copper eyes with reverence and respect, and bellowed for all to hear, "This union has my blessing. Let all within Thultanthar rejoice, for this priceless gift is more than I might have asked for on the day of my birth! Be exceedingly glad!"

Telamont's blessing upon their union was undoubtedly what sparked the reception Escanor and Soleil received, but even so, it was still comforting to see the whole of the Shadovar city rise to its feet, applauding and crying out in joy. Escanor tightened his grip on Soleil's hand, as though to impart his courage, and raised his free hand to wave to the people. Third Prince Lamorak abandoned his seat to offer Soleil a one-armed embrace, and to thump his older brother on the back in congratulations. Ninth Prince Vattick embraced Soleil like a sister, and as Fourth Prince Aglarel was shaking Escanor's hand Clariburnus sidled up and murmured conspiratorially into the First Prince's ear:

"It's high time that I got a move on myself, isn't it?"

"Long past, in my opinion," chuckled Escanor good-naturedly, watching the young warrior-shade's eyes as they cut through the crowd to the place where the tiefling assassin Aidan, Phendrana's closest friend and companion, sat skulking not far away. "I wish you luck."

"I fear I may need it with that one!" Clariburnus called over his shoulder, and with that he descended the high table and weaved his way through the crowd.

Exercising all of her energy on having a dreadful time at yet another ridiculous social gathering, Aidan Alderoak didn't realize that Fifth Prince Clariburnus Tanthul was approaching her until he had paused at her side and was practically towering over her. She raised her head defiantly to offer the impertinent newcomer a rude comment, recognized his regal Tanthul features, and instantly snapped her mouth shut and cast her eyes to the handsomely-polished ebony floorboards underfoot.

Clariburnus merely laughed. "Be at peace, Lady Alderoak. I do not intend to cause you any trouble."

"I fear it always turns to trouble where the Princes of Shade are concerned," Aidan blurted thoughtlessly, and her little halfling friend Ivy Meehan elbowed her pointedly in the ribs. Seeing that she had greatly overstepped her bounds Aidan shut her mouth a second time, teeth slamming together with an audible _clack_, and blushed to the roots of her rust-colored hair.

But the Princes of Shade were no stranger to tact—they were all the spawn of Lord Shadow, after all. Clariburnus actually dipped down to one knee before her, forcing her to look him in the eye when he answered, "I confess—you are correct. My brothers and I are always up to no good." Seeing Aidan's frustrated look, the Fifth Prince had no choice but to laugh a second time and add, "I must insist that you calm yourself; I only jest. My reasons for approaching you this evening may not be selfless, but I assure you that they are, at the very least, quite harmless."

"Harmless?" Aidan echoed doubtfully, and Ivy elbowed her again for good measure.

"Merely to inquire as to who has your hand for the waltz, and if the answer is no one, to allow me to enjoy it with you."

By now, Aidan's face was almost as flushed as her hair, though she did manage to raise her head and look Clariburnus in the eye when she stammered, "The answer is no one, Prince."

Clariburnus smiled widely enough to expose every single one of his ceremonial fangs. "Then would you be so kind as to honor me?"

Aidan stuttered through several half-formed sentences in her rush to form a proper response, but gave up after ten seconds, flustered; barely choking back her laughter Ivy leaned forward in her seat and said, "She would be delighted, Prince, and the honor is all hers."

"Your friend is very well-spoken," Clariburnus observed, winking pointedly at Ivy as he rose to his feet. "If these are the responses I will receive from her, you should allow her to speak on your behalf for all matters." He finished by offering Aidan his hand.

Amazingly, the tiefling glanced to her left, almost as if to ask Phendrana's permission, but so engrossed was the doppelganger in his musings that it was Ristel who answered in the form of mind speech. _Go on, what in the Nine Hells could it hurt?_

She had to admit that she appreciated the brash water genasi's logic, and smirking almost victoriously to herself Aidan laid her hand in Clariburnus's and allowed him to whisk her onto the ballroom floor.

Ivy just smiled, settled back in her chair, and helped herself to more wine. She would say one thing for the Twelve Princes of Shade—they sure knew how to throw a party.

"A dance?" asked Aust politely several minutes later, bowing respectfully and offering his hand to Ivy, and hopping down from her seat with only a little uncertainty in her movements she curtsied cutely and followed behind him as he struck a path toward the dance floor. This left Rosalles and Phendrana alone together at their almost secluded table on the far western edge of the grand ballroom; Rosalles passed the back of his plush velvet glove across his forehead and readjusted his weight in his chair, preparing to ask Phendrana the same question—

-He had just opened his mouth to ask for the doppelganger's hand when a shadowy figure materialized out of the shadow of their table, solidifying into the lithe form of loremaster Twelfth Prince Brennus. Putting his back cleverly to Rosalles he stepped right up to Phendrana, his intelligent bronze eyes surveying the mindmaster with more than a little calculating interest.

"I wondered if perhaps I might steal you away," Brennus inquired smoothly. "Unless the idea of dancing with me causes you discomfort."

Phendrana assumed the uncomfortable part stemmed from the fact that they were both male, but being a doppelganger and long since used to impersonating bodies that were not his own he had a solution for this problem. He took his feet, their eyes almost level, and before Brennus could so much as blink Phendrana's doppelganger body had taken on the precise likeness of comely aasimar Kiora Silvenstorm. Shocked at seeing a celestial-touched being in the grand ballroom of Thultanthar, Brennus could not keep his eyes from widening ever-so-slightly in the face of the beautiful creature before him; Kiora bound her golden hair away from her face with a simple leather strap and smiled up at the now-taller Netherese prince, the pale radiance of her face contrasting perfectly with the shimmering charcoal gown Phendrana had envisioned her to be wearing.

"Why should I be uncomfortable, Prince?" asked Kiora, her voice all confidence and resonant bell-tones, and clearing his throat with a little difficulty Brennus just shook his head and held out one ebon-skinned hand for her, palm up, to take. Kiora glanced back briefly at Rosalles, her features arranged in a strained apology, but Phendrana's curiosity pushed insistently against the guilt she felt and compelled her to follow Brennus away.

They took up a position on the dark wood floor not far from where Escanor and Soleil revolved contentedly. Brennus whisked Kiora around to face him, and the dervish wasn't at all surprised to find that the Twelfth Prince had recovered his mask of almost impenetrable calm. His free hand came to rest upon her waist and pulled her close, and Kiora's other hand settled upon his collarbone, where his violet cape clasped upon his loremaster's robes.

The two of them danced gracefully together for many long minutes in silence, staring into one another eyes as though determined yet afraid of what they might find there.

_Is there any point whatsoever in asking what in the Nine Hells you are thinking?_ snarled Alax, flustered by this unexpected turn of events. _You have not yet made this decision; the six of us have spoken with you on this matter carefully since the moment Ninth Prince Vattick presented the Most High's proposal to you in Waterdeep. It is dangerous to grow close to a member of the Tanthul family at this juncture._

_Every word Alax speaks is true, _agreed Ristel. _You would do well to exercise a little more caution. These men are not your friends, Phendrana. The Lords of Waterdeep may have cast the Princes of Shade in a more favorable light when last we met with them, but this is not wise. They will use your curiosity to achieve their own ends, be they wicked or otherwise._

But Phendrana wasn't so certain, and the other six residents of his mind came to understand as much with every second he continued to dance with Brennus. Perhaps the Princes of Shade could fool the Lords of Waterdeep, and perhaps they had done so during their negotiations with the rulers of the seaside metropolis, but to fool every citizen within the walls of their own city? Something didn't quite match up, and Phendrana had already come to terms with that. There was more than meets the eye with not just the Twelfth Prince, but with all of Telamont's brood; the mindmaster was beginning to believe that everything he had known about the delicate balance between good and evil was, in a word, incorrect.

_But how can you be certain? _asked Zerena, ever the voice of reason, and within the hazy cavern of his conscious mind Phendrana merely shook his head.

_I have only my instincts on this, _he admitted, and the others could not find the grounds to argue with him on that point.

It was good that their mental debate came to rest on that comment, for it was precisely the same moment that Brennus finally began to speak. "Have you considered how you might respond to the proposal that Ninth Prince Vattick extended to you on behalf of the Most High?"

Kiora shrugged, the simple movement of her shoulders sending an alluring ripple through the shimmery fabric of her storm-gray gown; Brennus's self mastery failed him for a moment, and he allowed his eyes to run the length of the aasimar's body briefly from head to toe. Kiora noticed, of course, but chose not to make it an issue. "I cannot speak for Phendrana on this matter, but I can tell you that he has been weighing his options carefully since that day, Prince."

"Of course. I meant no disrespect." Brennus shook his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "At times I forget that Phendrana's brilliant mind draws a clear line between where his consciousness ends and where yours begins."

"Mine, and those of the other five who have taken up residence here," Kiora reminded. "We are not one—we are seven parts that coalesce into a whole."

Brennus's face belied his deep-seated interest. "Were my talents rooted in my understanding of a person's psychological makeup, I would find Phendrana a priceless specimen in my research, Lady Silvenstorm."

Kiora laughed, every one of her ivory teeth flashing despite the murky light, the sound a clear ringing that seemed too pure to match the surroundings. "Thousands of others will come to think the same as the name Phendrana gains the notoriety it deserves, I am sure."

"Is notoriety something that Phendrana desires?" Brennus pressed.

The aasimar was shaking her head before the sentence was even finished. "Absolutely not. Phendrana has always desired to be known for the man that he is, but through the deeds he has done, not necessarily on a personal level. He is more reclusive than you know, always taking on the guise of another fallen hero, completing their final labors in secret, basking in their successes and taking nothing for himself. A more honorable, more selfless man does not exist."

"So it is notoriety through association that Phendrana seeks now? An interesting concept, but one that seems to suit him. Not that I would presume to know what does and does not suit Phendrana. A complex creature, to be sure."

"Quite."

Brennus transitioned smoothly into his next topic of curiosity. "And now a question for you, Lady Silvenstorm, if I may be so bold as to inquire… Do you see yourself coming to conflict with Phendrana, in the event that he does indeed choose to serve High Prince Telamont in the endeavors to come?"

Kiora's luminous, unblemished brow furrowed. "Why would there be conflict between us?"

"You, as well as the whole of your family, were killed by a shade of this city, correct? Does it not bother you to work in such close proximity with creatures of our ilk? To be on, dare I say, a personal level with one?" To accentuate his point, Brennus tightened his grip around Kiora's slight waist.

_The direction of this conversation concerns me, _Ristel spat.

_The last thing we need is for Kiora to draw her scythe against one of the Princes of Shade, _moaned Vadania. _Even the youngest of the twelve. I do not believe even for an instant that Twelfth Prince Brennus's talents end with unearthing and better understanding the ancient lore of Netheril._

Despite their unease, Kiora handled herself quite well. "Come now, Prince, you don't honestly believe that sharing a dance or two places you and I on a personal level?"

"Perhaps personal was too strong a term," Brennus agreed, his eyes hardening from molten to almost solid bronze as he cast around for another word to use. "Maybe intimate is more accurate."

"Intimate?" Kiora echoed, taken aback.

_Uh-oh,_ threw in Xanther.

Brennus drew Kiora nearer, but not in a way that made her feel threatened; rather, it was so that he could whisper into her ear without fear of being overheard. "Why don't you answer my earlier question, Lady, about whether or not this arrangement gives you pause, and then we will explore the term 'intimate' a bit further."

Kiora could only nod, caught somewhere between the confusion that she felt and the oddly-placed arousal that was now filling Phendrana's thoughts, the thoughts they all shared. Brennus watched the internal conflict as it played out clearly on the aasimar's face, his eyes narrowed with a victorious kind of amusement.

"You asked about how I felt, consorting with Princes of Shade after Captain Leevoth murdered first my family, then myself?"

Understanding that he was touching on quite a delicate matter, Brennus merely nodded.

"Then I will answer you as Phendrana would. We have all come to realize, with varying degrees of difficulty, that the good and evil we thought we knew no longer applies to all parties we have encountered. It is common knowledge, and I am sure that this will come as no surprise to you, that Thultanthar is widely regarded as an evil-hearted community with dark intentions for all of Faerun. Conversely, the city of Waterdeep has forever been viewed as the shining light of justice in this part of the world, ruled by men who govern their city, and themselves, with nothing less than absolute benevolence. I have seen for myself, as Phendrana has seen, that these assumptions are no longer necessarily accurate. So I say to you: if your intentions prove to be for the advancement of your city, and in the pursuit of that which was truly once yours, there will be no conflict. However—if we ever find that you have told us anything but the truth… I do not wish to threaten you, Prince, but you will have a very serious, unavoidable problem on your hands."

Instead of arguing, Brennus nodded sagely. "I understand completely. Your judgment is sound—or, should I say, Phendrana's."

"They are one in the same, Prince. As I have said, we are seven pieces of a whole." Then quickly, so that he would not seek an opportunity to strike up another line of conversation, Kiora plunged on, saying, "Now tell me what you meant when you said 'intimate'."

Brennus's handsome face split into a grin that was both mischievous and fatally attractive; Kiora felt Phendrana's heart splutter spasmodically in his chest, and felt even more keenly the doppelganger's loyalty to Rosalles weaken. "Surely you have noticed Phendrana's curiosity where I am concerned—at least, you will have noticed if you are joined as closely as you have said."

_Lie,_ Alax instructed swiftly.

But Kiora was wiser in this instance; she knew that the Princes of Shade, with all of their unexplainable talents gifted to them through the dark essence of the Shadow Weave, would surely have developed some innate sense of knowing when they were being lied to. Instead of risking it, she opted to share the truth. "It has been the primary focus of his thought process once or twice."

"Then to speak the term 'intimate' when describing this scenario would not be striking far from the truth, would it?"

Kiora opened her mouth to respond, but they would delve no further into that discussion until a much later date. For at that moment from somewhere not so far behind them, several dozen Shadovar began to scream in terror and agony, and turning to face the disturbance Brennus and Kiora witnessed the wayfarer Ishka wading his way back into the grand ballroom, now outfitted in full battle raiment and cleaving through droves of cowering Shadovar commoners with every sweep of his devastating greatsword.

Instinctively, Phendrana knew the identity of Ishka's true target. Seizing control of his body's motor functions he turned Kiora's head sharply to the right, glimpsing the high table and Most High Telamont rising slowly from his ornate onyx throne. Pivoting on Kiora's spindly heels Phendrana turned his attentions back to the threat at hand—to find that Ishka was faster than the doppelganger had anticipated, and that he had already advanced twenty more feet. His wild warrior's eyes fell upon Kiora and Brennus, no longer dancing but still holding one another close, and his trajectory of attack distinctly changed.

Phendrana's reflexes were lightning-fast; in an instant the visage of Kiora dissolved from sight and his true doppelganger body stood in its place, and in the instant before Ishka's massive blade arced down toward them Phendrana slid his hand from Brennus's collarbone to the center of his chest and shoved with all his might. The Twelfth Prince stumbled back and landed unceremoniously upon his rump, but this was just as Phendrana had hoped—when the sword swung down, it whistled through empty air before connecting quite solidly with the ebony floorboards upon which Brennus had been standing just a moment before.

"Away!" cried Phendrana, tapping into the wellspring of his supreme mental energies and preparing an attack even as he spoke the words. "He means to slay your monarch!"

Then thrusting both hands out before him Phendrana laid his palms against Ishka's barrel chest, the physical contact jolting a psywave from his body and jarring Ishka from his feet; the force of the blow blasted the crazed warrior back at least twenty feet before he struck the ground hard, at an angle that should have snapped his neck easily. It was then that Phendrana glimpsed the truth of Brennus's audacious claims for himself, the moment that Ishka shook off the impact, clambered to his feet, and lumbered forward yet again.

"The Gods save us," Phendrana breathed, and squaring his shoulders he braced himself for the conflict that was to follow.

He was saved momentarily when Soleil appeared at Ishka's back, having just materialized there by jaunting through a rift in space created by her own ring; the mountebank hefted her falchion and slashed a long line of red down the center of Ishka's back between his broad shoulder blades, but she may as well have been attacking a stone wall for her trouble. Ishka grunted away his pain and whirled to face her, but Soleil had the presence of mind to invoke the powers of her ring again and jaunt away from him—a smart move, for his answering stroke would have cleft the half-elf in two.

As it was, his blade was met by the equally impressive Sword of the Dark Father, wielded by none other than First Prince Escanor. Instead of shying away from the blow, however, Escanor squared his stance and met it head-on, parrying Ishka's sword away and engaging him in single combat. They danced around one another, blades whirling, sometimes crashing together and emitting sparks of silver and jet upon impact, until Ishka hooked his foot around in a clever maneuver and brought Escanor tripping down onto one knee.

It took the strength of three blades wielded simultaneously to shield Escanor from the blow that might have lopped his head from his shoulders, wielded by Aidan, Aust, and Rosalles. Their combined might was enough to hold him at bay, but it would be the only assault they mounted against Ishka; the unholy swordsman swept one arm out like a club, striking all three of them simultaneously, and they were all three unconscious before they hit the ground.

By that time Escanor was up, and with Soleil at his side they attacked together. The Sword of the Dark Father bit deeply into the meat of Ishka's upper thigh, while at the same time the Falchion of Telamont's Chosen sliced through the tendons of Ishka's left arm. Either blow should have been more than enough to at least immobilize the warrior, but they could only watch, despaired, as both wounds healed almost immediately and he waded back in to battle them.

Ishka swept his massive sword in a horizontal line, forcing Escanor to roll to one side to avoid it and Soleil to use her ring to jaunt away. Seeing that the First Prince would soon be hard pressed to fight their adversary single-handedly Phendrana let loose with a mind stab that pierced through Ishka's mind like an arrow; Ishka fell to his knees, clutching his head and bellowing in agony. A real arrow found its mark in Ishka's shoulder, a shot expertly fired by little Ivy Meehan, but this seemed to faze the great barbarian not at all.

Soleil jaunted back into place on Ishka's left flank and stabbed her falchion down, sinking it as deeply as she could into his back, and though the blade had clearly struck his spinal cord he still did not relent; he whirled suddenly, the speed of the movement whipping Soleil around like a slingshot, and when she was within range he seized a fistful of her hair and tossed her away from him as though she were weightless. She came down hard on her left side but wasn't seriously hurt by the impact, though her falchion was jolted from her hand and skittered far out of her reach. Ishka leapt toward her, bellowing like a wounded animal, but was thwarted again by Phendrana, who accosted their enemy this time with both of his madly whirling blades.

The dexterous doppelganger landed six fierce blows with a single complex maneuver, but Ishka seemed not to notice, seemed to lack even the capacity to feel pain of any kind. The greatsword would have struck the mindmaster down then, but the unthinkable happened.

Seven smoking beams of pure darkness pierced through the air and struck Ishka like black lightning streaking down upon a tall tower; a single figure descended from the westernmost balcony lining the grand ballroom, wreathed completely in shadow, and when his boots touched the ebony floorboards the great shadow sorcerer Hadrhune stalked forward to engage the swordsman.

"You are sadly mistaken if you believe that you can defeat me without any aid!" thundered Ishka, oblivious to the great gout of blood trickling from his back as he rose easily and shouldered his greatsword, watching the Right Hand of the High Prince approach with something like maniacal amusement in his empty eyes.

Hadrhune paused, his footfalls eerily silent, his dominant hand curled around his treasured darkstaff and his amber eyes peering out from beneath the hood of his shadow shroud. What little of his face that was visible remained completely expressionless. "I am the chosen emissary of Most High Telamont. If you insist on threatening him, I will put you down."

"Your people are a plague upon the face of Faerun," snarled Ishka, his face twisting into an ugly visage of rage and turmoil. "In order to eradicate a disease, you must strike the cancer where it is strongest."

"The Most High is beyond you," Hadrhune assured, and reaching up he grasped his hood with his free hand and tugged it down to rest upon his shoulders. Phendrana started; without the hood in place it was quite clear that Hadrhune, now one of the most powerful shades in all of Thultanthar, had been a pure-blooded elf before he had traded his soul for the essence of shadow. "He would destroy you with the most mundane of half-formed thoughts. Since you are not worthy of him, I will be happy to oblige your suicidal bloodlust."

"Suicidal?" screamed Ishka, and his eyes were mad now with the weight of his anger. "It is you who will not walk away from this!"

"We will see," remarked the seneschal offhandedly, and he awaited Ishka's charge with a face completely devoid of sentiment.

Predictably, Ishka broke into a sprint and charged Hadrhune with all of his speed, bellowing at the top of his lungs and readying his greatsword for yet another devastating blow. Hadrhune stood his ground, not even flinching away from the muscular warrior who was easily twice his size, and the moment it became apparent that the seneschal had no intention of attempting to avoid Ishka's attack Soleil and Phendrana both cried out in feeble warning.

Down arced the deadly greatsword, on track to cleave Hadrhune's skull in two.

Soleil flinched into Escanor's arms and hid her face, but not quickly enough to avoid watching the blade as it veritably sliced the diminutive shadow sorcerer in two. So strong of arm was Ishka that not only did the stroke split Hadrhune in half like a hot knife slicing through butter, it also impacted the ebony floorboards at Hadrhune's feet with enough force to leave the floor hopelessly splintered. A single dry sob escaped Soleil before she could stifle it and she buried her face further into Escanor's chest guiltily; Phendrana dropped both of his weapons in horror and covered his gaping mouth with both of his hands, unable to believe the grisly act that had occurred just feet from where he currently stood.

They were, all of them, deceived, and Ishka paid dearly for the moment of misplaced victory he enjoyed at the seneschal's expense. For the moment Ishka shrieked in insane laughter, the two split halves of the shadow sorcerer dissolved into black mist and floated away on a breeze; realizing the gravity of his error Ishka began to turn, lifting his sword in defense—

It was far too late by then, for Hadrhune had already melted out of the impertinent warrior's own shadow with a sadistic glint in his amber eyes; uttering the final trigger phrase to invoke the dark magic of the forbidden Shadow Weave he lifted his free hand, which had elongated and sharpened into deadly, serrated claws of pure darkness. These the seneschal slashed across Ishka's unsuspecting face, cackling wickedly all the while as though participating in some morbid children's game, and when Ishka reflexively shrank back with a wail it was obvious to everyone left within the grand ballroom that Hadrhune had just cut out Ishka's eyes.

Anticipating that Ishka would attack with a blind berserker move in retaliation Hadrhune vanished briefly from sight, dissolving into the warrior's shadow yet again and preparing his next attack. Ishka howled in rage and pain, hefting his greatsword with both hands and whipping it in desperate circles, a threat to anyone within six feet. Soleil jaunted away from Escanor, appeared at Phendrana's side, seized the doppelganger's forearm with one hand, and jaunted to safety; Escanor dissolved into his own shadow, rematerializing beside them.

"Should we not aid him?" asked Phendrana, watching Ishka's wild swings and glancing all around for any sign of Hadrhune.

"Hadrhune is a spellcaster of no small renown," First Prince Escanor told Phendrana, though his tone of voice was as begrudging and condescending as it was reassuring. "This fool Ishka does not stand a chance against him."

"Hadrhune's command over the Shadow Weave is almost absolute," Soleil added with no small amount of reverence. "He wields it almost as freely as the Most High does. You do not need to worry for him. If he wishes to fight this battle, it is in our best interest not to interfere."

At that moment Hadrhune reappeared, and though Ishka's eyes had grown back it did not matter; through blood-filled eyes the warrior watched helplessly as the seneschal cackled aloud and split himself into five identical forms, each shadow double impossible to distinguish from the one that had spawned it. In the split second of indecision that assailed Ishka as he decided which visage of Hadrhune to attack, each one of the five forms let loose a single darkbolt.

Ishka fell to one knee, breathing hard and shuddering under the weight of all of his half-healed wounds, but Hadrhune had learned already not to allow his adversary a spare moment to regain his strength. The four fake likenesses of the seneschal rushed Ishka like wraiths, slashing with identical claws of darkness and tearing the armor from the warrior's body as though it were made of silk and not steel, and when Ishka swung his sword desperately to rid himself of the shadow doubles they all dissipated into harmless smoke, allowing Ishka a fine view of the real Hadrhune soaring in to strike a fatal blow.

A kneeling, exhausted, helpless barbarian was one of Hadrhune's very favorite types of prey, and he took great pleasure in driving his claws of darkness through Ishka's ashen lips, tearing through his throat and severing his spinal cord all in the same thrust. Though the dark deed was clearly done—and could not have been performed in a more efficient, more gruesome fashion—Hadrhune's ebon-skinned lips still curled upward into a devilish smirk as he twisted his arm and ripped the claws free as brutally as he could manage, spattering his own shadow shroud with the lifeblood of his enemy.

Ishka collapsed into several pieces as the seneschal's feet.

Hadrhune stared down at the gory pile of body parts that had very recently been his adversary, the same cold, unfeeling glint in his eyes, and spat upon the mutilated remains of Ishka's face. "The Right Hand of the High Prince has no sympathy for the self-proclaimed enemies of Lord Shadow. This is a merciful fate compared to what I may have done to you."

"I have never approved of your methods," Escanor began as Hadrhune turned his back on the pathetic remains of the wayfarer Ishka and approached them, "but I will agree with what you have done today. To openly desecrate the Palace Most High, to disrespect the High Prince in such a blasphemous manner… no, Hadrhune, today what you have done is completely justifiable in my eyes. You have my approval."

In a rare display of camaraderie, Hadrhune bowed respectfully and fixed Escanor with a genuine grin of pleasure. "My thanks, First Prince. On the issues that matter, at least, we agree."

Escanor was just dropping his hand upon Hadrhune's shoulder in a gesture of goodwill when the four of them heard some sort of commotion behind the seneschal, and turning to look they cried out in dismay to find that Ishka's body had knitted itself together… and was now only fifteen feet away from the dias upon which High Prince Telamont stood, alone and completely unguarded.

"Enough of this," bellowed the Most High, his voice both regal and terrifying, and raising one seemingly frail arm he rippled his slender fingers in Ishka's direction as though waving goodbye.

Ishka stopped in his tracks as though his boots had suddenly frozen to the floor—he didn't move, or speak, or even breathe, but the expression of horror and hatred upon his face remained firmly chiseled into his every feature. Gradually Phendrana, Escanor, Soleil, and Hadrhune came to see that Ishka seemed to be suspended within a kind of smoky casket, a glassy tomb made of black translucent quartz.

Telamont descended the stairs leading from the dias to the ballroom floor with a slow, thoughtful tread to his every step, meeting Ishka's glare of unmatched loathing with all the damnation of Shar's faithful followers burning in the depths of his own platinum eyes. When his graceful, almost mournful march had brought him right up to the polished edge of the crystalline tomb he ran one hand almost lovingly along the surface, admiring his work.

"For the man who cannot die, I grant you a punishment that is both abhorred and fitting—the torturous punishment of life. I do not suffer heretics against Thultanthar to survive unless the circumstances are unprecedented, but in your case I will make a generous exception; in this tomb of suspended animation you will remain, frozen forever in your current state, constantly aware of your surroundings but unable to alter your fate in any way. For a man who wishes only to see the end of his days, death can be only a welcome gift. To be condemned to life forever… ah, that is far, far worse."

The floorboards beneath Ishka's crystalline casket changed consistency then, to allow the quartz tomb to sink beneath the surface; as the others watched the ebony floorboards almost eagerly consumed Ishka's prison halfway… two-thirds… and then the doomed wayfarer was gone, with no evidence left to ever suggest he had been there at all.


	3. Chapter 3

Three: Many Meetings

Phendrana stumbled forward a step, shocked by all that he had seen. Was the power of the Shadow Weave as limitless as it seemed? Could all of the High Prince's sons command such terrifying and awesome magic at will, as easily as if they had been born with them? For the first time since the initial round of negotiations with Waterdeep, the doppelganger was afraid for the teeming seaside metropolis. What if the Lords of Waterdeep chose not to ally with Thultanthar, and cast the great City of Shade aside as rudely as they had handled that meeting? Would Thultanthar react just as mercilessly as they just had?

_That poor man,_ whimpered Zerena, and within the conscious recesses of Phendrana's mind Alax sidled closer to the gloaming and wrapped an arm bracingly around her delicate shoulders. _It wasn't his fault, he only wanted it all to end…._

_And you think that is why he attacked the High Prince's chosen emissaries? The High Prince's eldest son? The ruler of Shade Enclave himself? _scoffed Ristel, folding his arms adamantly over his chest and fixing Zerena with a skeptical look. _No, Zerena—as far as I can see, Ishka had no reason at all for doing what he did today. What justification does he have for assaulting the rulers of Shade? What injustice have they caused him?_

_I agree with Ristel, _Kiora put in. _Ishka's actions here were nothing more than senseless, unprovoked actions of violence. All of the Most High's attendants, as well as the High Prince himself, acted accordingly, and in self-defense._

As the six residents of his mind proceeded to war with one another over what had just occurred, Phendrana dizzily slumped down to one knee, clutching his forehead with one hand and bracing himself with the other. The hand that sought the floor touched something warm and slick, and he immediately recoiled; Rosalles was there at once, tugging off his scarf and using it to wipe the blood off Phendrana's shaking hand.

By this time, Telamont had approached them. Escanor, Hadrhune, and Soleil all bowed low at once, and Phendrana, Rosalles, Aidan, Aust, and Ivy all hastened to copy them lest they seem disrespectful. The High Prince bid them to rise almost at once, and Phendrana was afforded his first glimpse of the fabled monarch.

Up close, Telamont and Escanor bore a striking physical resemblance to one another. Though their eyes were startlingly different hues of jewel-tones, they had an almost identical facial structure—a sharp, well-defined nose, high, regal cheekbones, and a strong chin. Telamont was not as tall as his eldest son, nor was he as broad of shoulder or strong of arm, but no one who ever met Lord Shadow personally was inclined to believe that these shortcomings made him any less powerful. Telamont carried the distinct air of a spellcaster, and just as they could sense the terrifying arcane strength practically emanating from Hadrhune's being, so too could Phendrana and his companions feel that the High Prince of the City of Shade was indeed capable of great and terrible feats of magical strength.

"These birthday celebrations of mine do have a tendency to become memorable in one fashion or another," Telamont began, smiling with a mouthful of ceremonial fangs similar to those his sons often wore. "Though I must say, I will not appreciate remembering this occasion for this type of notoriety."

"My apologies, Most High One," said Hadrhune at once, dropping down to one knee at Telamont's feet and bowing his head; in a rare act of obeisance, the seneschal even laid his darkstaff upon the floor beside him. "I should have done more to prevent this from happening. Sixth Prince Yder and I were aware of Ishka's presence, but since he was here at your behest I allowed him to remain. Forgive me."

"Do not concern yourself with it, Hadrhune," Telamont told the seneschal reassuringly, and he ushered Hadrhune back to his feet. "The situation has been dealt with accordingly and little harm has been done." As he finished, Telamont glanced sidelong at Soleil; the mountebank shook her head and held out one hand, waving away his concern at once.

"I am not hurt." She turned to regard Aidan, Aust, and Rosalles, all of whom seemed alert enough. "Though Ishka did strike down a few of our guests. Are you alright?"

Rosalles lowered his head momentarily, a gesture of respect and gratitude. "Quite. We are flattered by your concern."

Telamont clapped his hands together once, seeming almost jovial. "And now, at last, I have the good fortune to become acquainted with all of you! Let me welcome you formally to Thultanthar, the last of the floating shadow-cities from the days of ancient Netheril. It is good that you have come; I have been longing to meet you. Your endeavors have not gone unnoticed in the City of Shade, and several members of the Shadow Court have told me much of you, but stories cannot compare to personally making a person's acquaintance, can it?"

Phendrana shook his head, in effect putting an end to the argument that still raged within his mind. "You honor us with your warm welcome, High Prince. We are sincerely grateful to have received an invitation to your birthday celebration—though I do hope that, next year, the day of your birth is not marked by such an unwelcome occasion."

The Most High laughed, a sound that was dark but not unpleasant. "You do me a great kindness! Now come. I will personally see to it that your companions are made comfortable so that they may rest—I daresay we all need to find a moment of solace after that interruption."

"What—" began Phendrana, several half-formed questions upon his lips.

"I insist," Telamont broke in smoothly. "We have much to do on this day. Hadrhune—you may leave us. A guest awaits you at your abode."

In a rare act of uncertainty, Hadrhune actually hesitated where he stood. "I beg your pardon, Most High One? I wasn't aware that I was expecting a guest today. I meant to attend to your every whim this day."

"And I do appreciate the gesture, but for now, away with you. This is an unexpected guest. She admitted herself almost an hour ago, and I might have apprehended her for her impertinence, but I am quite fond of her and she is not unknown to you." Up to this point Telamont seemed almost amused, but as he finished his platinum eyes narrowed forbiddingly. "Do remind her to exercise proper protocol next time, or she will receive quite a different reception, won't you?"

Hadrhune's curiosity all but vanished at these words, bowing low once more and retrieving his darkstaff in the same motion. "I do apologize, Most High. I will see to these matters at your behest. I pray that you find some enjoyment this day."

Without another word, Hadrhune excused himself by shadow walking out of the grand ballroom via his own shadow. Telamont turned his attention to Escanor and Soleil, who hovered very near one another. "Take rest. There will be no twilight gathering this day. If some pressing matter arises, deal with it accordingly. I have much to do."

Seeing all of the questions forthcoming, Telamont turned his eyes upon Phendrana and finished, "I shall be entertaining our guest of honor. You and I have much to discuss, Phendrana."

Hadrhune entered his personal abode, Villa Cambria, with perhaps more caution than he would use under normal circumstances. For example, instead of simply shadow walking into his private chambers on the second floor as he usually did, this time he materialized back into his natural shape on the abode's doorstep and admitted himself through the front door. All of his servants were upon him at once, though he hardly paid them any attention—he unwrapped his shadow shroud and thrust it into the arms of one groping house slave negligently, his keen amber eyes darting all about, and then he proceeded into the foyer.

He avoided the spiral staircase leading up to the second level on purpose, and checked every room on the ground floor personally, leaving nothing to chance, expecting without asking that his servants were not even aware that a guest had entered Villa Cambria without permission. He found nothing upon a very thorough search—though he had expected as much, and did not waste time congratulating himself—and only when he had made absolutely certain that his guest was not lingering on the bottommost floor did he ascend the staircase, darkstaff clutched firmly in his hand.

He wasn't sure why he felt compelled to be so thorough. Instinctively he knew where she was waiting to meet with him, and the thought of her making herself at home in his private chambers was unsettling, irritating, infuriating, and intriguing all rolled into one.

Stubbornly, Hadrhune investigated every other room on the second floor, avoiding his bedroom like a healthy person avoids an individual with the plague. When he had made a careful sweep of his private prayer room, the chamber in which he communed with Shar every night at the moon's highest point, he uttered the smallest of flustered sighs and turned back toward his private quarters.

The door was just as firmly shut and locked as it had been when he had departed for the Palace Most High much earlier in the day, but he was never fooled by appearances and certainly wasn't foolish enough to believe that a locked door would keep this particular guest out. Brandishing his darkstaff he gave the knob a tap, and heard with his keen ears the moment the tumbler shifted. Instead of operating the doorknob by hand, Hadrhune opted for a more subtle approach and simply kicked the door in.

It rebounded off its hinges and slammed in his face a moment later, which was just as he had anticipated—and very fortunate, because it blocked the would-be devastating flash of conjured daylight that his guest had cast the moment the door had swung open.

Hadrhune leaned against the door, chuckling under his breath at her nerve. He could feel deep down, in the very essence of his shadow, that the daylight spell was far stronger than it had been the last time; the last one would have left him fatigued, possibly wounded, but this one would surely have ended his life were he the careless sort who did not take unexpected guests seriously.

How very intriguing.

Instinctively, without pausing to consider the act, Hadrhune dissolved yet again into his own shadow and walked through the Plane of Shadow easily, comfortably, as though he were still traversing the halls of his own familiar home. He did not have to go far, and the journey took him only seconds, before he found the location he had been searching for and he materialized from his shadow yet again.

Right onto his own balcony.

This, as it turned out, was quite a brilliant move, because his quarry was still standing facing the door and thus had her back turned firmly to the balcony on which Hadrhune now stood. The seneschal couldn't help it—he smiled broadly to himself and allowed a brief shiver of anticipation to creep up his spine.

The single darkbolt he launched at her back wouldn't have been enough to kill her by any means, but Hadrhune was still surprised when she leapt to one side and tucked into a graceful roll, avoiding the spell completely. As quickly as Hadrhune's smile had appeared, it now vanished; his lips curled into a snarl and he launched seven darkbolts at once.

Coming up onto a crouch on one knee, the female spellcaster gritted her teeth and raised her own staff up in front of her—a relic that Hadrhune recognized instantly as the Staff of Winter's Chill, a magical artifact of unimaginable power, passed down through generations of snow-elf royalty. Hadrhune could only watch as some sort of icy barrier jettisoned out of the pale blue center stone of the staff, serving as an effective shield against Hadrhune's own spell. She launched a lightning bolt of pure cold with enough force to shake the very foundation upon which Villa Cambria was built—and came up confused when it passed right through Hadrhune's body, dissolving the seneschal into nothing but wispy smoke.

She realized her error when the shadow double had vanished into the smoky air, and the real Hadrhune shadow walked out of her own shadow and came right up behind her, resting his ceremonial black glass dagger against her throat and snickering victoriously into her ear.

"Have you grown careless?" he murmured, doing his best to remain on his guard and not to be taken in by her obvious physical beauty, or her almost otherworldly scent. "Has the Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins lost her vigilance?"

When she spoke, Hadrhune marveled at the way the dagger trembled in time with the vibrations her vocal cords produced. "Of course not. I simply didn't wish to continue battling you, and I thought the quickest way to see to my business with you and be on my way was to allow you to win… this time."

Cackling still, Hadrhune removed the blade from her supple throat and returned the seldom-used weapon to the hidden fold of his billowing robes. His guest took one step away from him before turning fully to face him, and Hadrhune reflexively braced himself for the onslaught of her feminine powers.

With beauty unmatched as perhaps the greatest weapon at her disposal and skills of manipulation that even Eleventh Prince Melegaunt would envy, Aveil Arthien was the single most deceitful, brilliant, and seductive woman Hadrhune had ever dealt with. Standing just under five feet, she was living proof that brute strength was not the only key to winning a battle; with her cunning, bloodthirstiness, and impressive spell repertoire, Aveil could easily best almost any warrior without much effort. The primary reason, however, that the half-elf was considered so dangerous amongst the clientele with which she associated, though, was not her skill in the Art; Aveil was, quite literally, one of the most comely women in all of Faerun. Her skin was supple and luminous, like backlit alabaster; her hair was a vibrant shade of midnight, and her piercing violet eyes were wide and framed by long, dark eyelashes. Her lips were full and painted crimson—Hadrhune had to make a conscious effort not to let his eyes slip to them when she spoke—and her body was slight of weight but boasted all of a woman's deadly charms.

Charms that Hadrhune had once experienced personally, many years ago when Aveil had still been the right hand of Archmage Knellict, and suddenly he found all of the memories of that night crashing back into his memory. The seneschal allowed himself a smile; time had not dulled those recollections one bit.

His expressionless mask was back in place but a moment later, and Hadrhune grew suddenly stern. "I have been instructed to warn you that you are not allowed to visit this place upon a whim. The Most High demands that, the next time you feel the need to seek an audience with a member of Thultanthar's esteemed Shadow Court, you request the audience—and not simply assume that you will be granted one." When Aveil laughed, the seneschal squared his narrow shoulders and finished gravely, "Do otherwise at your own peril."

"Oh come now, Hadrhune," Aveil laughed, leaning her staff in the corner where two walls met and unlacing her traveling cloak; this she hung carelessly upon one of the banisters of the seneschal's wide four-poster bed, and Hadrhune scowled deeply when the impertinent half-elf lay down and made herself comfortable upon the jet pillows. "All this formality… soon I will start thinking you aren't positively delighted to see me."

She ended with a sickeningly sweet smile and even offered a suggestive wink for his trouble; Hadrhune unconsciously dug his thumbnail into the groove worn into his darkstaff, and a wisp of shadowstuff seeped out. Aveil giggled girlishly, but this was cut short when the seneschal growled, "Somehow you have gotten the false impression that seeing you gives me some sort of pleasure."

"It used to." Aveil frowned then. "Don't tell me that the mountebank has made you soft."

Hadrhune forced out a laugh, though the mention of Soleil caused him a stab of pain that he would never admit to. "Soleil is now the First Prince's concubine, Shar damn her miserable bones."

Aveil jutted out her lower lip in a pout, openly mocking him. "Do I sense jealousy?"

"You should sense that I am at the end of my patience with you."

"My my, she certainly left you tightly wound." The Dark Chosen of Mystra slunk off Hadrhune's bed and shamelessly drew up toward him, but the moment she reached out one of her petite angel's hands to place upon his chest Hadrhune darted out one ebon-skinned hand and caught her by the throat. He took pleasure in the sparkle of fear within the depths of those violet eyes.

"I will not play games with you," Hadrhune growled, though privately he was regretting keeping her at bay; the memories of the last time were still dancing temptingly through his mind. "Tell me your business, since you seem to think you have some right to be here, and tell me quickly so that I might be rid of you."

He released her throat and pushed her back a step in the same motion. Aveil scowled unattractively before crossing her arms.

"One of your princes has been poking around recently, trying to solve the mystery behind some long-lived human called Ishka. As I understand it, he was more or less unsuccessful gathering the information he was after, correct?" When Hadrhune said nothing, she laughed openly and went on. "It so happens that I have the information your prince was seeking."

When it became apparent that Aveil had no intention of surrendering her knowledge freely, Hadrhune sighed in frustration and prompted, "Then let it become known to me, that I might pass it along to the necessary authorities."

The seneschal found that he was not at all surprised by her answer. "You expect me to relinquish such hard-to-come-by information simply because you have asked for it? Preposterous. I see no benefit for myself." The half-elf raised one perfect black eyebrow suggestively so that Hadrhune was certain not to miss the hidden meaning.

"I think your 'husband' would be quite displeased if I took you up on your offer," Hadrhune pointed out, leaning against the frame of the balcony in what he hoped was a casual and offbeat manner—though truthfully, he could feel his brow growing warm.

Unexpectedly, Aveil's face crumpled—it was the nearest Hadrhune had ever seen her to tears. Nevertheless, she recovered herself almost immediately, saying in a forced, emotionless tone of voice, "Drako Falconis is no longer my husband. We separated several months ago. It was time."

"I don't understand."

"Being heartless, I would expect as much from you," Aveil spat back. "At any rate, I am a free agent now, as it were. Two people with such different interests and contrasting outlooks on life are not meant to spend their days together. I see that now. Where he is or how he now spends his time I cannot say, nor do I care—I am enjoying this time, as you can see."

Hadrhune couldn't stop the biting jest from escaping his lips. "Enjoying your time by consorting with whomever you please, as you did before?"

Aveil moved quickly; she was striding across the room toward him before his sentence was half-finished, and her hand had struck his cheek barely a half second after he had uttered the final syllable. Hadrhune's face didn't even sting from the impact, but he did not let that weigh heavily into his retribution; instead of laughing at her feeble attempts to cause him some sort of physical pain he shoved himself away from the wall and stalked toward her, his face full of wrath, and when Aveil had backed into the opposite wall he slammed his hands upon the surface on either side of her, in effect pinning her there.

Their faces were only millimeters apart, their lips practically brushing together, when Hadrhune growled, "Your information, Lady Arthien?"

The half-elf spellcaster swallowed audibly before she was able to speak, and when she did the words came out in a breathy rush; Hadrhune was momentarily paralyzed by the scent of her sweet breath, though he had been bracing himself for it nearly all this time. "Ishka was kept alive by an artifact of the lichdrow Lim Tal'eyve, an abomination who is well known to me. I know that Most High Telamont has already put an end to Ishka's troublemaking, so the fact that I was not able to retrieve the artifact itself means little, but I should tell you this—there are whisperings that Lim Tal'eyve will come again, at a time we will all least expect. Though at present he is the unholy prisoner of the Spider Queen Lolth, and she would never agree to release his damned soul, it seems that your goddess has taken some interest in him and has some higher agenda in mind for him."

Hadrhune reeled at the possibilities. "Our goddess… can you mean Dark Lady Shar?"

"Precisely. And since Shar is a far stronger deity than Lolth, there is no question that if Shar wishes Lim Tal'eyve to rise, he will. Keep an eye out for him in the days to come. When Lim Tal'eyve walks the earth, all of Faerun sees him. He is influential to all, whether or not they realize it."

They stood facing one another, Aveil braced against the wall and panting softly, Hadrhune still pinning her there with her violet gaze frozen in the grips of his amber one, and like two magnets with the precise opposite charge they were suddenly drawn the rest of the way toward one another. Their lips met in a kind of desperate rush, Aveil moaning softly with need, and Hadrhune's entire world turned over at the sound.

Then the seneschal was gone, shadow walked away from the Dark Chosen of Mystra to the other side of the chamber, leaving Aveil cowering against the wall with her wild eyes searching all around for him. Hadrhune ached for her—he could still feel her soft weight pressed against his body, his nostrils were still filled with her angelic scent, the sound of her breathless moan rang in his ears—but he knew better than anyone the grave importance of keeping the upper hand against Aveil Arthien and stayed rooted to the spot despite the difficulty. "I will consider all that you have told me carefully. For now, leave me. I have much to do this day and I must attend to the Most High."

Aveil hesitated, her eyes narrowing dangerously—no man ever refused her, for obvious reasons. "Surely your duties are not so pressing that you must see to them this very instant."

Hadrhune forced a laugh, though it felt as though his entire body had caught fire. "I wouldn't expect you to understand these matters. Learn how to prioritize in your newfound freedom, Lady Arthien, and perhaps one day when our paths cross again we will find a moment more convenient that allows us to continue."

Fuming with all the fury of the Nine Hells raging in her eyes, Aveil shadow walked right out of his private chambers. Hadrhune wasn't about to question how or where she had learned that skill, a little-known power that few outside of the great city of Thultanthar could ever hope to accomplish.

And Hadrhune, as heartless and uncaring a man as any, carried about his business for the rest of the day with Aveil Arthien haunting his every thought.

Phendrana followed Most High Telamont through the grand ballroom and into the widest hallway, one step behind the great ruler of Thultanthar, keeping his tongue in check despite his many questions. His six friends were so terrified for him that they didn't have the presence of mind to murmur their usual ceaseless warnings as he proceeded—for which he was very grateful. He wasn't sure what this meeting with High Prince Telamont entailed, but if it truly was just the two of them it was certain to be something of great importance…not to mention private.

The Palace Most High put the Tower of Waterdeep to shame, both in size and in sheer grandeur; it was perhaps the largest and most elaborate structure Phendrana had ever had the honor of passing through. This was saying something: in his quest to aid Faerun's heroes, the doppelganger had seen his share of grandiose, bard-worthy places. All of the hallways were paved with smooth, glassy black marble, as were the meticulously-chiseled walls and the ceiling overhead; black onyx wall sconces were lit with bright fires at regular intervals, sending their own shivering shadows stretching far out behind them. Phendrana winced visibly with every step that he took—he was so used to walking soundlessly that every time one of his boots clacked noisily upon the polished marble the sound was almost deafening. Telamont seemed not to notice, making his way as though nothing were amiss, and it wasn't until they had almost reached their destination that Phendrana realized that only his own footsteps were audible.

The chamber Telamont led Phendrana into was massive, almost as large as the grand ballroom, but so dark that the mindmaster paused just two paces inside the doorway. The Most High floated quietly away from him, leaving him to wait in the almost-impenetrable darkness alone for several moments, until a flash of purple light cut through the gloom and he could see his way ahead. Telamont was waiting for him about one hundred feet away, lingering patiently upon a dias at the top of a short staircase, where he had lit two spindly candelabras with magical violet flames.

"My apologies," Telamont said, when Phendrana had stopped respectfully at the foot of the stairs. "It isn't often that the audiences I entertain here are not shades. Absolute darkness does nothing to impair our vision, you see."

Phendrana nodded, though in truth this news made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Was there no end to the mind-boggling abilities of the ancestors of the Netherese?

Telamont gestured for Phendrana to follow him, descending the black marble staircase and circling the dias to the remarkable structure laid into the floor behind it. He led Phendrana right up to the edge, and the doppelganger gasped aloud; the shimmering surface of the smooth black marble gave way to the magically conjured image of the seneschal Hadrhune, who appeared to be doing battle with a violet-robed, female spellcaster whom Phendrana did not know. Telamont waved his hand over this image, and the surface of the extraordinary viewing screen grew as black as the floor.

"You are only the second non-shade in the history of this enclave's existence who has ever glimpsed into the world window," said Telamont reverently, gazing down at the section of the floor upon which the image of Hadrhune doing battle had only just faded away. "It is, quite simply, a gateway into the life of any individual you might name upon the surface of Faerun."

Hesitantly, Phendrana continued to watch the world window with wide eyes. If this was really true (and the doppelganger wasn't foolish enough to assume that Telamont was bluffing), the Most High had the power to anticipate much—all that his enemies might be plotting against him, for example, including the Lords of Waterdeep and their decision regarding an alliance with Thultanthar. It was also possible for him to keep an eye on Phendrana, his companions, and every single private moment they had had since Most High Telamont had learned their names.

Telamont seemed to know Phendrana's concerns before he voiced them, for he said, "Be at peace, Phendrana—I do not abuse the power of this item. It is not my wish to follow your every move with my magic. I see no reason why I should be suspicious of you."

Phendrana was given the impression that Telamont would remedy this, though, if he felt the need to. It was with great care that he asked, "What have you brought me here to see?"

"I will show you." Telamont waved his hand yet again over the darkened world window and uttered what Phendrana took to be the name of a man he did not know; instantly the world window lit up again, fixing on a specific point and magnifying the image upon its surface until both the shade and the doppelganger could clearly identify the scene before them. It did not seem to be anything of great importance, as near as Phendrana could tell—just a curious-looking creature perusing a dusty old bookshelf-but he knew that Telamont would not purposely waste his time and waited patiently for an explanation. The Most High was quick to deliver.

"This is Xarroth, a below-average spellcaster descended from the once-great archwizards of Ancient Imaskar. Are you familiar with that lineage?"

"Yes," Phendrana responded almost at once. "The Deep Imaskari are the last descendents of that empire—an empire that is even longer-lived than that of the Netherese Imperium, if memory serves."

"You are correct." Was Telamont's tone begrudging now, or did Phendrana imagine that edge? "Imaskar is the only civilization whose arcane secrets rival those of the Netherese Imperium. Their magic has been forgotten over the millennia, and their scribes did not record their lore as fervently as did the archwizards of ancient Netheril. Today's Deep Imaskari are secretive, cunning, and highly ambitious; in short, they are among the most fanatical of groups coveting the Nether Scrolls. This young sorcerer, Xarroth, is of absolutely no consequence to the Empire of Shade…except that he has made no secret of the fact that he is searching for Netherese magic in his quest for magical domination."

As Phendrana watched, the young Imaskari called Xarroth removed an armful of tattered, half-ruined scrolls from the third row of the dusty bookshelf and carelessly began sifting through them. Guessing the near-priceless nature of the texts Xarroth now handled, the mindmaster couldn't suppress a wince when several of the worn pages tore in the negligent spellcaster's hands. He glanced sidelong at Telamont and saw that the High Prince now wore an expression of intense dislike, but there was still one thing that Phendrana didn't quite understand.

"Forgive me, High Prince, but…what does this have to do with me?"

"It pleases me that you have asked, Phendrana." Telamont turned to face the doppelganger, though the image of young Xarroth continued to play over his shoulder upon the world window. "You see, I wondered if perhaps you would help me deal with this problem. Obviously I cannot allow a descendent of the great Imaskar to come into possession of one of the Nether Scrolls, however incompetent the owner may be; the magic penned by the ancient Netherese archwizards is priceless and irreplaceable. It is unacceptable to me that these texts fall into the hands of any individual not of Shadovar descent, and I am prepared to ensure that they do not by whatever means necessary.

However, at this time it is not that simple. Normally I would dispatch Hadrhune to see to this task, or one of my own sons if my faithful emissary had already undertaken some errand on my behalf, but with the final round of negotiations with Waterdeep nearing and two other delegations with great Faerunian cities drawing nearer, I cannot spare any of them. It is crucial that the Tanthul family is not divided at this time. I considered dispatching you to see to this irksome happenstance on my behalf, but seeing as how we have only just become acquainted and you have not yet accepted my proposal, it would seem rude of me to ask such a thing of you."

Phendrana listened carefully, taken in by the High Prince's tact. Telamont smoothly continued.

"Would it be possible for you to call upon your friends to thwart Xarroth's search? I will compensate you for your cooperation—you have my word."

The mindmaster shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the next. "I mean no disrespect, High Prince, but I hardly think Alvaro, Aidan and the others will pursue a journey in my stead. They are quite adamant to follow me."

Telamont's smile flashed every single one of his ceremonial fangs, which he had yet to remove since departing the grand ballroom. "And I would not presume to separate you from them—you misunderstand me, noble doppelganger. When I refer to your friends, I mean your… other… friends."

A full ten seconds elapsed before Phendrana came to understand, and when he did he rocked back a step in surprise as though he had been physically struck. "You mean… the lost ones?"

"Those valorous heroes whose lives ended in your arms." Telamont nodded slowly, almost reverently, and even placed a hand upon Phendrana's shoulder; though the fabric of the doppelganger's jade green vestments separated his flesh from the High Prince's bare hand, Phendrana still felt a chill spread through his body at the contact. "They remain yet in Manifest, do they not?"

Phendrana swallowed hard, considering; his throat seemed to have grown considerably smaller at the mention of his six deceased friends. "I do not know… nor do I possess any means of finding out."

But Telamont had already thought of a contingency for Phendrana's answer, and used the hand lingering upon Phendrana's slight shoulder to bring the mindmaster's attention back to the world window; by now Xarroth had given up his search, seeming incredibly flustered. "All beings can be viewed using the world window, so long as they remain yet on the Material Plane—if they have already passed beyond the Veil, they cannot be seen. You have only to speak the name, and if it exists, it shall be found."

Opening his now very dry mouth, Phendrana wheezed out the name "Zerena Desini."

Instantly the focus of the world window seemed to shift, much like a giant microscope re-focusing on another object of importance; it panned away from Xarroth, the features upon its surface blurring for a moment, and then re-arranged to show a petite, sweet-faced gloaming perched upon the precipice of a building Phendrana did not recognize. The doppelganger's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her.

"That is the roof of Piran Sedestadel," Telamont informed him, "a mage's guild in the city of Manifest. If the little one lingers in Manifest, is it likely that the others do as well?"

Momentarily rendered speechless, Phendrana could only nod his affirmative response.

"Splendid. And do you suppose they would be willing to take this task upon themselves, in the name of Thultanthar?"

Phendrana at last came to his senses, turning away from the image of Zerena absentmindedly plucking at her harp's strings to regard the Most High with some difficulty. "High Prince… I cannot speak for the lost ones. Their lives and my own may be joined in the depths of my mind, but in reality we can barely be considered acquaintances. This is not my decision to make, but theirs. If they choose to refuse you, there is little I can do to alter their course."

Telamont removed his hand from Phendrana's shoulder, careful to keep his face perfectly composed, though the doppelganger was certain this wasn't the answer the Shadovar monarch had been hoping for. After taking a moment to gather himself Telamont rephrased his inquiry, saying, "Then would you be willing to go to Manifest and enlist them? The journey will be brief, I assure you—you need only to ask the question and return. I will even spare one of my own sons this day, to shadow walk you on your way."

Knowing it would be foolish to refuse (for Phendrana was certain that Telamont was being rather more accommodating and rather less demanding than he would under normal circumstances), Phendrana nodded again in assent. "I will go and speak with them at your earliest convenience. Given that I am already within your city, it only makes sense for me to remain long enough to see this through. When might I be off?"

"I will send you on your way at once. Who do you wish to accompany you?" The name was on Phendrana's lips, but Telamont seemed to pluck it from his mind before he had even fully wrapped his thoughts around it. "Brennus?"

From the curtains of thick darkness wreathing the edges of the chamber drifted a distinctly cohesive, opaque shadow, and at the single spoken command of his father Twelfth Prince Brennus trod forward and paused on the opposite side of the world window, bowing low. "You summoned me, Most High One?"

"Yes. Do your studies concerning Lichdrow Tal'eyve demand your immediate attentions?"

The smallest of Telamont's twelve sons straightened, his copper eyes shining keenly through the gloom like bejeweled beacons. "No, High Prince. My work is well under way and does not require my presence to progress. Several of the senior loremasters have been dismissed from their usual duties to continue unearthing information. The situation is being handled according to your expectations."

"Thorough as always—you are a great comfort to me. If you can spare the rest of this day, I will send you alongside Phendrana as he journeys to Manifest on a personal errand for me."

Brennus's eyes flitted to Phendrana, then away just as quickly. He seemed intrigued yet unwilling to allow the depth of his feelings to show in front of the High Prince. "I would be honored to do your bidding, Most High. I can shadow walk him there at his earliest convenience."

Telamont folded his hands together in front of him, clearly pleased by this answer. "Excellent. I am sure that Phendrana will wish to pass news of his errand along to his friends, so perhaps you might stop by Villa Cloveri before you depart? They are resting at Soleil's abode for the time being."

"As you command, Most High One." Brennus bowed low yet again, then circled the world window and moved right up to Phendrana's side to offer the doppelganger his arm. "At your leisure."

Eager now to be away from the too-dark chamber and the almost-eerie world window, Phendrana seized Brennus's arm just above the elbow almost desperately; the Twelfth Prince's chuckle of amusement was barely audible before he melted back into his own shadow, taking the doppelganger with him.

Ivy was passed out in a corner of the Villa Cloveri ground floor lounge in a half-drunken haze with Aust in Reverie not far from her; Aidan and Rosalles were pacing in opposite directions, unspeaking, when Brennus shadow walked into their midst with Phendrana close beside him. Rosalles fell upon the doppelganger immediately, seizing Phendrana's long-fingered hand in both of his own, and Aidan hovered close by as protectively as she dared.

"Thank the Gods," breathed Rosalles, pressing his lips briefly against the back of Phendrana's hand. "I was worried for you."

"What reason should you have to be concerned?" asked Brennus rather coldly, tearing his arm from Phendrana's slackened grip and putting distance between them at once. "To be the personal guest of the Most High is an honor, not a concern."

"I apologize, Prince," put in Phendrana swiftly. "No disrespect was meant."

Brennus wandered nearer to the foyer, seeming uninterested, before calling over his shoulder, "State your business that we might be on our way. It would be most impolite for us to treat the Most High's errand as some inconsequential task."

"Errand?" echoed Rosalles incredulously, his azure eyes searching Phendrana's face frantically for some sort of explanation, and the doppelganger hastened to clarify.

"An unforeseen circumstance demands that I return at once to the city of Manifest," he began hurriedly, his protuberant silver eyes flashing in Brennus's direction every several seconds as though afraid the prince might disappear. "One of the scrolls penned by the ancient Netherese archwizards is in danger of falling into the wrong hands. It falls to me now to take the first step to ensure that this does not happen."

"What have they asked you to do?" Aidan demanded, regarding Brennus with open suspicion.

"Merely to locate the lost ones and enlist their help in this. I am certain that if I can contact Zerena, she will be more than willing to devote her talents to this cause." This was wishful thinking; as Phendrana had truthfully informed Telamont, his relationship with Zerena was not at all strong outside of the recesses of his own mind. "I will return as soon as I am able. I have been promised that it will not take long to accomplish my part. The bulk of the work will fall to them, once I have located them."

Rosalles still had not released Phendrana's hand, but he did lean around to glare openly at Brennus's back. "Is he accompanying you?"

The open jealousy with which the mercenary commander asked this question grated on Phendrana's nerves, and he jerked his hand free rather irritably. Rosalles's eyes stung with hurt. "He is coming along to make my journey considerably shorter and safer. Shadow walking will make the journey there and back nearly instantaneous—surely even you can see the benefit to us all in making such a choice?"

"Of course," Aidan interrupted, positioning herself halfway in-between Phendrana and Rosalles as though anticipating the need to break up a dispute. "It is very kind of the High Prince to dispatch one of his own sons to aid you on your way, isn't it, Alvaro?"

The tiefling's glare of disapproval alerted Rosalles to the fact that he was behaving foolishly, and that if he wished to remain in one piece he would keep his mouth shut. The mercenary bit down on his bottom lip and cast his gaze upon the floor, his expression both embarrassed and ashamed. Phendrana found that he couldn't wait to be rid of him.

"I will return as soon as I am able," Phendrana told Aidan, clapping her upon the shoulder companionably and offering her a forced smile. "Are you permitted to remain here?"

Aidan nodded. "The mountebank Soleil bade us to make ourselves comfortable here. She assured us that we need not be afraid to linger during our visit. Do not worry for us. I will keep watch."

Pleased with this assessment, Phendrana crossed the lounge and approached Twelfth Prince Brennus. The loremaster offered his arm a second time, his handsome, disarming smile back in place as though it had never been gone, and this time Phendrana accepted it without even the slightest hesitation.

Alvaro Rosalles knew, in that moment, that one day soon he would lose Phendrana no matter how tightly he held on.

Phendrana held fast to Brennus's elbow and stumbled along in the Twelfth Prince's wake, his eyes darting wildly in all directions as he was led through the seemingly endless expanse of impenetrable shadow. He didn't bother asking what gave Brennus the ability to pick his way through the darkness so easily, for in the last twelve hours alone he had seen enough unbelievable feats of magic to believe that the Princes of Shade were capable of anything one could imagine. The somewhat uncomfortable trek through the Plane of Shadow lasted for perhaps ten minutes—though, of course, there was no way to track the flow of time as it passed—and then, quite suddenly, they stepped through an indistinguishable rift in the curtains of shadow and right into an empty alleyway. Brennus meticulously dusted off his loremaster's robes, though they seemed impeccable to Phendrana's eyes, and swept his gaze around.

"There is the Registry," murmured Brennus, more to himself than to the doppelganger loitering at his side, "and there is the Angel's Wings… we are in the wrong district. Piran Sedestadel is not in the Portal Ward. Follow me."

And turning on his heel Brennus set off, with Phendrana close at side.

Telamont's youngest son clearly knew his way around the many districts of Manifest, and in no time at all had turned the final corner that led them into the somewhat-busier streets of Phantom Hill. Glancing around surreptitiously, scarcely able to believe all that he was seeing, Phendrana recognized the building known as Piran Sedestadel not because he was familiar with it, but by the petite winged figure perched upon the eaves of the tallest tower. He called out to her without even considering how much attention it would draw to him, but in the next instant it didn't matter: hearing her name, and then seeing just who had called out to her, Zerena immediately abandoned her familiar vigil and floated down to the cobblestoned streets to meet him.

Phendrana fell to his knees before her and held out his arms, and then the only thing that mattered was that his beloved Zerena was resting her comfortable, soft, somehow familiar weight against him. He would have been perfectly content to cling to her for an hour, perhaps two, but Brennus politely cleared his throat and the mindmaster recalled the reason for their visit. He pushed Zerena back to arms length and sucked in a deep breath.

"I haven't much time," he explained hurriedly, clutching her childlike hands with both of his own. "There is a matter of great importance, to the Shadovar and to me, which I must beg your assistance in."

Zerena's loyalty, as always, was unfaltering and beyond questions. "Tell me."

"In this city rests one of the scrolls of ancient Netheril, a priceless artifact that we must defend, and reclaim for Thultanthar, at all costs. In the wrong hands it could become a weapon of unparalleled destruction, but if delivered back where it belongs, it could be a great key to the success of the City of Shade." Phendrana knew that he was talking very quickly, probably stringing words together almost imperceptibly, but if Zerena had difficulty following him she did not let on. "There is a wizard here in Manifest, searching for the scroll even as we speak. He is an apprentice mage from Deep Imaskar, by the name of Xarroth. I implore you, Zerena—find the scroll and thwart Xarroth's endeavors to claim it for his own."

"You are not staying?" Zerena's eyes flitted to Brennus's but snapped quickly back onto Phendrana's; the Twelfth Prince took a small step back, momentarily stunned. The gloaming's shrewd gaze had been blazing with recognition and understanding—was it possible, somehow, that the residents within Phendrana's complex mind were linked to their ghostly bodies still lingering on in Manifest? "I fear if this situation is as grave as you claim, I will need your help."

Phendrana rose reluctantly to his feet, shaking his head all the while. "I cannot stay; the Most High has designs for me yet, and I feel that, alongside the Princes of Shade, I will be most useful. You need not be alone in this; enlist the aid of the other five. They will join you if they know it was I who recruited you for this."

Doubt crossed Zerena's periwinkle eyes, but she had never questioned Phendrana before and wasn't about to start. Instead of voicing her concerns, therefore, the gloaming nodded her assent and squeezed the mindmaster's hands reassuringly. "I will do all that I can to carry out your request." Then, to Twelfth Prince Brennus, the angel-like creature added, "Do not take Phendrana for granted, Prince, and certainly do not attempt to enslave him. A freer spirit in all of Faerun there is not, and a more golden heart does not exist. His talents may be foreign to you and your kind, but do not mold him into the weapon that would best suit your designs—employ him as he is. He is unique and wondrous, and capable of accomplishing anything."

Brennus didn't seem to appreciate adhering to such counsel, but he dipped his head in acquiescence all the same. "I will heed your words with caution, Lady Desini, and you have my thanks as well as the thanks of all the Princes of Shade for allowing us to keep Phendrana for the trials Thultanthar will soon face."

The loremaster finished by laying one ebon-skinned hand upon Phendrana's shoulder, and it was with a heavy heart that the doppelganger retreated a step and took hold of Brennus's arm once more.

"Do not despair," Phendrana said, as much for Zerena's benefit as his own. "You are not alone. You have the other five, and all of you have me. In this life and the next… forever."

With that Phendrana vanished, pulled back into the veil of shadows that Brennus knew so very well, and though Zerena's ghostly heartfelt empty at his departure she managed to put her sorrow aside.

She had work to do.


	4. Chapter 4

Four: Coercion

Only on the personal order of High Prince Telamont would Hadrhune ever consider setting foot within any tavern upon the face of Faerun, much less the one he currently found himself in. Alcohol of any kind symbolized a loss of control, and the High Prince's Right Hand possessed superb self-mastery and considered himself a significant influencer to every situation of which he was part; therefore, skulking about an establishment based almost entirely on sensory deprivation was not something that Hadrhune deemed within his station, much less deserving of his time. His amber eyes swept the mingling droves of drunkards as they made merry, and he suppressed a shudder as he sank into the shadows of the nearest corner.

The whisperings that Lim Tal'eyve's second coming was close at hand had increased in frequency since Hadrhune's meeting with Aveil Arthien a tenday ago. By all accounts it seemed inevitable that the drow would find some way to return to the world of the living, whether by chance or by fortune, and that his return would spell doom for all of Faerun's peoples. The Shadow Council of Lord Telamont hardly trifled themselves with affairs of the state, and did not care much for the petty power struggles of other nations—why should they, when no nation could ever hope to be as powerful as Thultanthar?-, but the return of Lim Tal'eyve was a prospect that seemed to have set the High Prince on edge. The ruler of Shade did not seem threatened, per se, but he seemed keen to capitalize on any opportunity that he might where the lichdrow was concerned. And so he had dispatched Hadrhune, his most trusted advisor, to glean some measure of truth from the rumors.

Hadrhune watched a trio of cloaked and cowled figures carefully from beneath the hood of his shadow shroud, certain that they were the ones he sought. Before sending the seneschal forth on his errand the High Prince had mentioned a few names that Hadrhune was unfamiliar with, stressing that they would be vital to the success of his mission. Now Hadrhune approached them with the stealth of a wraith, prepared to use whatever means necessary to gain the information he required.

The nearest cloaked figure didn't even realize that there was a fourth member in their midst until Hadrhune paused at his elbow.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them, taking in their horrified eyes as he swept the table with his shrewd gaze. "I bid you good evening. It is my hope that you could aid me – you see, I am here seeking information for my most esteemed Master… perhaps the name will be familiar to you… Lord Shadow?"

If their eyes were wide before, now the drunkards were in fear of them simply rolling out of their sockets. Were it not for his iron-hard discipline, Hadrhune might have laughed at their ridiculous expressions. "I see that you _are _familiar with the name – that will also mean that you are familiar with the reputation that goes along with it. Therefore you are aware that, if at any time during our meeting, I suspect that you are withholding information that could prove vital to my investigation… well, Lord Shadow would be greatly displeased." Hadrhune paused, perhaps one of his favorite intimidation tactics, and pointedly leaned upon his darkstaff as he finished, "And when my Master is displeased, I make it my personal duty to exact swift and suitable retribution on his behalf. Now… which of you is Utimire Solafate?"

The inebriated fool directly across from Hadrhune jerked his head up a millimeter in recognition; he had been rocking slightly to-and-fro in his seat all the while, and continued to do it now, Hadrhune noticed with distaste. A nervous habit, perhaps? If there was one thing the Right Hand of the Most High truly detested, it was anything less than absolute mastery of oneself. "I'm Ut. Though I can't say I know you… can't imagine what information I could possibly offer you."

"You would be surprised," sneered Hadrhune, and with his darkstaff he gestured toward the tavern door. "Follow me."

Hadrhune led the way out of the tavern and into the mildly-crowded streets of Waterdeep, privately grateful that night had fallen and foot traffic had died down a great deal. With negotiations at a standstill between Thultanthar and the Lords of Waterdeep, it was unwise for any Shadovar to be seen openly in the streets of the port city. High Prince Telamont had taken great care to ensure that Hadrhune would be visiting a little-used district of the city, as an extra precaution for the seneschal's safety, but Hadrhune was not particularly concerned. He was the personal emissary of the mightiest monarch known to Faerun – and he had earned his position using his wit, his cunning, his magical strength, and every other weapon in his arsenal of tricks. He was far from helpless, even surrounded by hostile citizens in a foreign city as he was.

The mostly-empty street turned into a dark, narrow alley; it was down this that Hadrhune led them, keeping the object of his interrogation always at his back. The open display of confidence was enough to keep Ut from attempting to attack the seneschal while his back was turned – only a man completely secure in his abilities would take such a risk, even around a warrior as inebriated as Ut was. They had nearly reached the center of the alley, the area that would offer the most concealment for a private conversation, when Hadrhune stopped dead in his tracks; Ut followed the shade's scowl across the alley and noticed, despite the alcohol fogging his senses, that a figure was lingering against the wall, watching their approach. After another moment, Ut realized that he recognized the diminutive female spellcaster as she shrugged away from the wall and stepped forward into the moonlight.

"By the Gods!" Ut barked, forgetting for a moment that he was being led to what promised to be a not-so-pleasant interrogation. "Aveil Arthien!"

And one look at her was all Hadrhune needed to confirm what Ut already knew; it was indeed Aveil, from her heart-shattering smile to her perfect angel's face to her devastating curves beneath the violet spellcaster's robes she wore. The seneschal's scowl deepened with every step she took toward them, and when she at last ceased her advance a mere three feet from him he was veritably trembling with rage. Perhaps he imagined it, but Hadrhune thought he heard the darkstaff crack beneath the vice-grip of his hand.

"What in the name of Shar are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice icy.

But Ut overrode him. "It certainly is a pleasure, Lady Arthien! How long has it been? Three years? Four?"

"I confess – it has been nearly five," Aveil divulged, keeping her deep lilac gaze upon the warrior-monk as she spoke and neglecting to acknowledge Hadrhune at all; the only indicator that she had even noticed him was the slight curve to her lips that hadn't been there before. Hadrhune knew that expression all too well – Aveil's signature mocking smile.

"I suppose I should be calling you Lady Falconis now, should I not?" Ut corrected, tossing a suggestive wink Aveil's way, and the diminutive spellcaster's smile vanished in an instant.

"No," she corrected in a hard tone, her eyes unforgiving now. "You should not be."

Ut cocked his head to one side, clearly confused – though certainly the alcohol may have been to blame for his lack of understanding – and had not even the time to react when Aveil stepped forward and cracked the head of her staff down hard on the back of Ut's neck. The blow rendered the warrior-monk unconscious at once; he swooned for the pavement and collapsed in a heap, almost unnoticed by the two that remained. Aveil made a point of buffing the head of the Staff of Winter's Chill clean on the sleeve of her voluminous purple robes, scowling down at the man she had just assaulted. Again, Hadrhune had to work not to lose his composure and laugh.

"Detestable," Aveil hissed through her teeth, and with the toe of her boot she overturned the warrior-monk's limp body so that he was lying face down. "I never much cared for that one – then, I have always viewed alcoholism much the same as you have, Hadrhune."

She glanced up to find his amber eyes glittering murderously, his shadow-swathed face the picture of fury. "Answer me this – what in the Nine Hells are you doing here, you wretched harlot? Do you realize the gravity of the act you have just committed? You have interfered with an interrogation, a mandate entrusted to me by the Most High himself! The consequences – "

"There will be no consequences," Aveil overrode him, waving her free hand negligently as if swatting an irksome fly.

"I should destroy you for your insolence!" roared Hadrhune, surging forward a step in his rage. "The Most High – "

"Sent you here to gather information regarding the rise of Lim Tal'eyve," Aveil interrupted, gazing up at Hadrhune through her thick eyelashes as though phenomenally bored with his behavior. "And you will get what you came for – if you are prepared to contend with me, that is."

Hadrhune rocked back a step, more than a little taken aback, but managed to keep the forbidding glare firmly in place as he continued to regard her. "I was given many questions, Lady Arthien – questions that the Most High intended for Utimire, and for Utimire alone. I hardly think that you are in any position to grant me the information I require."

"You are as close-minded as ever – a trait I would think the Most High would grow quite tired of," Aveil admitted, and she took to idly studying her perfectly manicured fingernails with the same expression of boredom as before. "Believe me, Hadrhune – it is I who should be at the top of your monarch's interrogation list. No one else in all the Realms is as equipped to deliver information regarding Lim Tal'eyve."

"And what makes you so certain of that?" spat Hadrhune.

Aveil's eyes hardened; Hadrhune watched, mesmerized, as a flicker of self-loathing flashed in her eyes. It was obvious that she was reluctant to explain herself any further, but seeing that the seneschal had no intention of yielding without just cause she offered begrudgingly, "Because I have been personally involved with him numerous times, on numerous occasions, in numerous different ways."

"Explain," Hadrhune demanded, ignoring the dozens of questions now flitting through his mind.

Aveil steadfastly shook her head, and Hadrhune felt his rage beginning to reach a breaking point until she said, "Not here. I will speak with you on these matters, Hadrhune, and I swear upon my dark bond to the goddess Mystra that you will get the information you have been charged to obtain, but I will do so in private."

"And if you do not tell me what I wish to know, you will accept full responsibility for impeding my interrogation, and you will answer to the Most High himself?" Hadrhune specified, waiting for the half-elf spellcaster to back out of the deal.

"It will not come to that," Aveil assured, her face holding not even a hint of humor; quite the contrary, she looked deathly serious. "But if I must swear to your terms, then yes, I will present myself to the Most High on your behalf should my information prove unacceptable to you."

Hadrhune couldn't help being surprised by this answer. Truthfully, he knew Aveil Arthien better than most – which was saying quite a lot, considering that those who got too close to her generally wound up meeting some manner of tragic and grisly demise - , and so he knew that she never answered for her actions if she could possibly avoid it. Aveil had never faced the Most High – that Hadrhune was aware of, anyway – but she had to know that even her considerable talents wouldn't put her on an even playing field with the High Prince of the City of Shade. No – Aveil Arthien had always been and would always be a creature of self-preservation… she would do absolutely anything to keep herself alive, and in a favorable position. Why, then, was she so willing to place herself at risk, simply to aid in his quest for information? What could she possibly hope to gain?

Was she that desperate to be close to someone? Or was this all on account of him?

"Very well," Hadrhune at last agreed, his eyes still narrow slits of suspicion. "But I will hold you to your word on this."

Without awaiting a reply the seneschal shadow-walked away from her, trusting that Aveil remembered the way to Thultanthar.

It was well after midnight when Hadrhune shadow-walked onto the balcony overlooking the pavilion where the Shadow Court made their homes – so late, in fact, that not a single lamp lit a single window on the entire square. The seneschal's primary instinct was to report to the Most High, but he kept the compulsion in check with his commendable discipline. As yet, he had absolutely nothing to report. Perhaps when his business with Aveil was concluded, it would be in his best interest to seek an audience with the High Prince.

He turned his back on the pavilion and stole through the shadowy curtain, admitting himself into his private chambers to find that Aveil was there already, silently awaiting him. The Staff of Winter's Chill was propped against the wall, its cool azure stone shimmering softly with a kind of slumbering power all its own, but the wizard herself did not look even remotely at ease. Generally she made herself comfortable in any environment or atmosphere, for she was more self-assured than most people Hadrhune knew, but not today: she stood uncertainly in the center of the room, her violet eyes darting nervously in all directions as though she awaited her death by some unseen assassin. The expression she wore gave Hadrhune pause.

Perhaps she hadn't been toying with him. Perhaps her dealings with Lim Tal'eyve were truly horrifying… so horrifying that she was unnerved beyond reassurance. Still, he knew, if he wanted to extract the information he had been charged to obtain, he would have to be thorough yet somewhat gentle in his proceedings, a concept that was altogether foreign to the no-nonsense Right Hand of the High Prince.

Hadrhune paused just on the inside of the shadowy curtain and pointedly copied Aveil, leaning his darkstaff against the wall at the east side of the room and leaving it there. He shot a sidelong glance her way from beneath the hood of his shadow shroud, wondering how his uncharacteristic show of trust would be perceived, but she hadn't moved a millimeter; she continued to stand rooted to the spot, her pale hands balled into fists at her sides, her face taut with sudden stress.

In a rare act of compassion Hadrhune retreated to the seldom-used ebony cabinet in the corner of the room and extracted a dusty bottle and a single pristine crystal goblet; he popped the cork easily despite the bottle's age and poured a sweet-smelling, deep red liquid into the goblet, until the glass was about half-full. This he offered to Aveil without a single word, but she shook her head insistently at his offer. "I have no interest in partaking of a bottle that may or may not be poisoned. Even if the drink is safe, I am not foolish enough to dull my own senses when yours will remain as sharp as always."

The seneschal conceded both points – even distressed, Aveil's mind was impeccable – and retrieved a second goblet from the set of fine crystal. He filled this with precisely the same amount of liquid and even took a sip as Aveil watched incredulously. The aged Thultanthar heartwine – the only beverage Hadrhune had ever been known to drink that contained any alcohol – assailed him with its mouthwatering aroma and its light yet sweet body. In response to Aveil's skeptical expression Hadrhune simply lifted an eyebrow while asking, "Surely you are not about to decline my generous hospitality, Lady Arthien?"

"Surely you are not about to impose upon me a false sense of security before heartlessly manhandling me for the answers you require?" she spat back, her eyes on fire and her face severe.

It was in that moment that Hadrhune realized – whatever had happened between Aveil and Lim Tal'eyve in the past still haunted her, and this situation would require more finesse than Hadrhune generally used when dealing with anyone. He closed the cabinet soundlessly and carried both goblets with him, taking another sip of his as he went, and took a seat on the edge of his own bed; holding the other glass out to her he cocked his head, indicating that she should seat herself also. Still Aveil did not move, but this time Hadrhune was ready for her refusal. "Perhaps if you were to confide in me, I could assist in easing your discomfort."

He was certain that Aveil would have a biting remark for that, but when she was silent for many moments Hadrhune looked up; her face was the picture of torment, down to the very real tears threatening to streak from her overbright eyes. Hadrhune felt something twitch uncomfortably in his chest, but the sensation was foreign and unwanted and he didn't give it any further consideration. Aveil did something very out of character then: she seized the glass Hadrhune held out for her and drained half of it in a single swallow. The liquid in the goblet sloshed ominously as her hand trembled.

Hadrhune couldn't keep the genuine concern from his voice when he asked, "What could he have possibly done to you, to make you so obviously unnerved?"

At last she took a seat, but not on the extreme opposite edge of the mattress as Hadrhune would have thought she would; she circled the large four-poster and sat very close to him, so near that they were nearly touching one another. Hadrhune did well to contain his surprise at this, and found that rather than feeling aroused at her sudden close proximity he still felt dominated by the urge to ensure that Aveil was truly alright. When she spoke, her words came out in a rush.

"I first met Lim Tal'eyve in the uncivilized regions to the north of Silverymoon; it was in the last remaining weeks before male drow all over the Underdark began their full-scale revolt in an attempt to reshape the dark elf hierarchy. I thought little of him at first – I was still attempting to escape Rhadamanthus, as well as Archmage Knellict from the Citadel of Assassins, you recall - , but as the days wore on and we came to hear more of him I discovered just how influential he truly was. During the Time of Troubles we heard much of him – how through his ambition the male drow managed to gain a foothold in the city of Menzoberranzan, how they even began to wage small battles with the priestesses, and win.

"Our journeys took us to the portal city of Sigil, where we learned that Lim had forged an alliance with the gate guardian known only as Rule of Three. Together the pair of them commanded devastating power – they were nigh unstoppable, and their hostile takeover of the portal city culminated with the complete and total destruction of the Lady of Pain."

Hadrhune's eyes grew wide despite himself, and he gasped aloud. "Truly?"

"Yes – I saw the deed with my own eyes." Aveil paused to down the rest of her heartwine, but when Hadrhune offered her his own glass she shook her head to decline the offer. "That is not even the pinnacle of his power… all of the things I have told you are things he accomplished while he still lived. It wasn't until after his life was taken from him that he began to realize the true depths of his limitless ambitions."

"You have mentioned to me before that Lim Tal'eyve was killed some years ago," Hadrhune recalled, sifting through his memory. "If he is as mighty as you say, who was it that put an end to him? You?"

Aveil scoffed, looking bitter. "Hardly. He was put to death by Drako Falconis."

The seneschal's amber eyes veritably burned with shock at this revelation. "Your former husband? The druid? Surely you jest."

"No, I do not. Drako… witnessed with his own eyes the true depths of my deceit, discovered for himself how far I was willing to go to gain the upper hand." Aveil swallowed hard, her face full of self-loathing. "Rather than denounce me for it he fought Lim himself, in my defense… he struck Lim down, though it was by no means an easy victory."

Hadrhune allowed his mind to wander down all the possible avenues, somehow unable to come to terms with the scenario Aveil was alluding to. He wound up stumbling uncertainly over his next words. "When you say… the true depths of your deceit… you don't mean…?"

"I mean that Lim Tal'eyve once knew me," Aveil finished quietly, "as you once knew me."

The seneschal nodded once to show that he understood her meaning, but for some reason that he could never begin to explain he felt, unmistakably, his insides burning with what could only be rage. Smoldering beneath that with an intensity all its own was an emotion akin to but altogether separate from his sudden rush of anger… it was jealousy. A lesser man may have flown into a fury at Aveil's confession, but Hadrhune silently reminded himself that he was master over his emotions and understood the importance of keeping his thoughts in check, and so it was that his only reaction to this news was to set his goblet of heartwine aside. As it was, the delicate crystal still clattered when it came into contact with the smooth ebony wood of the nightstand, suggesting that perhaps Hadrhune had used quite a bit more force than was necessary.

"I see," acknowledged Hadrhune through clenched teeth, and Aveil thought his tone seemed rather strained for a man who insisted he did not care for her. "And his resurrection?"

Aveil nodded; she had been stalling for time, not at all keen on offering up any more details. "I am more familiar with his resurrection than anyone."

Hadrhune cocked one black eyebrow. "And why is that?"

"It is because he made Drako and me his top priority upon returning to the Plane of the Living," Aveil told him, and her eyes were vacant now as she glimpsed events long since passed. "At first I could not understand it… Lim had made so many dangerous enemies during his time as a mortal, some more powerful than I, so why should he concern himself with us, of all people? But when he came to me that night he made his intentions very plain – his primary goal was not to accomplish any grand feats, or to gain any more power, for he had championed death and already had these things within his grasp. No, the reason Lim Tal'eyve returned from the grave, the only reason Lolth agreed to relinquish his soul from its eternity of torment, was to exact revenge upon Drako Falconis."

A very important piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Hadrhune just then. Up to that point he had been curious as to why Aveil seemed to be the focus of Lim Tal'eyve's wrath – after all, what had she done to invoke his ire in the first place? But at the mention of Drako Falconis, it became much clearer: the air genasi had been the one to put Lim to death, had even cut the drow down in what seemed to be the prime of his life before the fruits of his labors had really come to any sort of fruition. Drako had also not bothered to keep his love for Aveil a secret, so it would stand to reason that Aveil would become Lim's target – after all, the swiftest and most effective way to take down an enemy, Hadrhune knew from experience, was to attack the enemy's most vulnerable part – his heart. "And so he came after you."

Aveil nodded again, seeming solemn; her violet eyes were dull with sadness, and when she shook her head her shimmering black hair cascaded over her shoulders in a kind of ebony wave. "By this time Drako and I had joined our hearts together, and though there never was any kind of formal ceremony we were, for all intents and purposes, husband and wife; Drako had always been possessed of a protective side, and that side of him shone through when he woke up the following morning to find that I had vanished without a trace."

"The lichdrow abducted you," Hadrhune guessed. "He came for Drako knowing that you would stand in his way."

"Precisely. And when I did not budge an inch from Drako's defense, the confrontation came to blows. Needless to say, I did not win it."

"And your husband came after you."

Aveil reached out one hand, leaning over Hadrhune as she replaced her now empty glass, took up the one he had laid aside, and took a small but earnest sip – it was as though she was relying on the drink to fuel her words now. "Yes, many weeks later, he and a small group of our closest friends and companions came after me."

Hadrhune looked quite taken aback by this news. "Weeks later? What was the reason for the delay? I can't imagine anything keeping dear old Drako from you for such a lengthy period of time."

"You forget," Aveil reminded, "that Lim Tal'eyve was neither mortal nor unseasoned. His mind is as sharp and cunning as any Shadovar here in your enclave – his aptitude for manipulation could rival even Eleventh Prince Melegaunt, and as for his spellcasting ability… well, let us say only that even you would be hard pressed against him, Hadrhune." When the seneschal raised a skeptical eyebrow at her lofty insinuation, Aveil pressed on. "Lim knew that Drako would pursue him to the furthest reaches of Faerun, and so he naturally summoned every defense at his disposal in order to thwart Drako's efforts. Entire legions of the undead marched the length of the Bloodstone Lands at Lim's order; Lim Tal'eyve's personal commander, a githyanki known as Rivek the Pathfinder, led a horde of the creatures right into Heliogabalus in an attempt to overthrow King Gareth Dragonsbane. If you are familiar with these events at all you will know that Lim's armies succeeded in toppling the empire, as well as in taking the king's life. Drako's travels were forever plagued with troubles such as these."

"And your captivity?" Hadrhune pressed, quite taken with the half-elf's riveting story now. "How did you spend your time in the lichdrow's company? I daresay he was not a particularly generous host?"

Aveil shrugged her slender shoulders as though they had reached the most uninteresting part of her tale, but she worked a little too hard at keeping her face impassive and Hadrhune knew instantly that she wasn't being entirely truthful. "I spent my days in the bowels of Castle Perilous, at the mercy of a seemingly endless line of hideous denizens of the Underdark. In that aspect, at least, Lim Tal'eyve was not particularly creative."

Hadrhune reached out and took the goblet from her hands, and though she shot him a glare filled with poison he did not relent. He returned the crystal glass to the nighstand and shifted his weight, drifting an inch or two nearer to the petite sorceress as he angled his body fully to face her. His amber eyes smoldered within his shadow-swathed face, all mystery and brutal understanding, and his voice was husky but insistent. "You would attempt to fool the Right Hand of the Most High? You cannot lie to me, Aveil. No one can."

Aveil bristled at this, her back snapping straight and her eyes shimmering with sparks of violet fire. "Is that a threat?!"

The shadow sorcerer Hadrhune was many things – a manipulator, a deceiver, and a master of the arcane foremost among these – and though he had been physically involved with his share of women throughout his lifetime he could not say with any honesty that he had ever been intimate with anyone. True emotional intimacy was about far more than physical passion, or so he had been told, and the seneschal had little use or patience for romance. But although he was not a lover by practice that did not change the fact that Hadrhune was still a man; Aveil Arthien was cold and unyielding not because she desired to be, but because the world had taught her that the only real means of survival at her disposal was for her to self protect. She enjoyed her solitude, Hadrhune knew, about as much as he enjoyed his. And he knew that there was only one way he could get her to confide in him.

Reaching out one black hand he stroked his fingertips across her cheekbone, marveling at the stark contrast between her alabaster skin and his ebon fingers and the way that Aveil's breath caught in her throat the moment he touched her. "There is no reason for you to fear me," he murmured, "and no reason why you should not confide in me."

"I am not a fool," Aveil snarled, though it was plain in her eyes that his touch had softened her attitude toward him somewhat. "I have not forgotten that every word I utter here will inevitably find its way to the Most High's ears."

The seneschal's hand found a grip on the back of her neck and his fingers coiled themselves gently into her silken hair when he whispered, "Not this."

Aveil's eyes pierced into his - searching for even the slightest trace of deceit, he knew – but after a time her expression grew soft and she dared to believe that perhaps Hadrhune was telling the truth this time. Rather than open her mouth to speak the words she slid away from him and sinuously took her feet; Hadrhune's eyes followed her every movement, an undercurrent of suspicion lurking beneath the obvious fascination in his expression. Aveil faced him, trepidation apparent in her every mannerism, leaving Hadrhune to wonder again just what Lim Tal'eyve had done to instill such fear in her.

"Perhaps it would be better," said the sorceress tremulously, "if I showed you. For what Lim Tal'eyve did to me… the words are monstrous."

Hadrhune nodded once as indication that this would be acceptable to him, and dropping her eyes to the floor as though embarrassed Aveil began to shrug out of her spellcaster's robes.

It was a tense and agonizing half minute for Hadrhune. Though the moment couldn't have been less intimate and Aveil did her best to be businesslike about her actions, the man with the iron will felt his discipline begin to fray at the edges while his amber eyes bored holes into the half-elf's heavenly body. When the richly-woven and embroidered violet garment lay in a pool of fabric at Aveil's feet she stepped gingerly out of it and faced him unashamedly, and Hadrhune allowed himself a moment to bask in the glory of what he was seeing. Just like her face and hands, the rest of Aveil's skin was pale and somehow slightly luminous – somewhere Hadrhune thought he had heard that this was a snow elf trait, and perhaps Aveil had inherited it. Though small in stature Aveil was possessed of the most devastating curves any man had ever laid eyes on: her waist was slender, her bosom ample, her entire frame lined with lean but toned muscle. Beneath the robes she wore only her signature knee-high black heeled boots and a matching black lace undergarment set that was as elegant as it was revealing. When she opened her eyes to regard Hadrhune, the seneschal had to swallow hard to clear his throat and work to meet her eyes.

"I do not see how seducing me will illustrate the horrors you suffered at the hands of Lim Tal'eyve," Hadrhune pointed out dryly, though his entire body felt ablaze with an invisible fire.

Aveil's face grew sour; she jutted out one hip as though irritated, further accentuating the curves that had so obviously caught Hadrhune's attention. "Perhaps if you were to pry your eyes from the physical pleasantries you seem to be so enjoying, and started looking for something a little more… unsightly."

Hadrhune allowed his eyes to slip from hers and rove her body once more, and found that Aveil was right – the moment he forced himself not to enjoy the sight of the luscious woman standing before him, it became painfully obvious just what she had wished him to see. A jagged scar ran the length of her belly from just a few inches above her navel to a point below her black lace undergarment that his eyes could not see, marring her otherwise perfect skin. The scar was a dark gray, suggesting that the wound had been inflicted with a magical blade. His eyes flitted back up to hers, a million question roiling in their amber depths. "The lichdrow did this to you?"

The half-elf rocked back a step at Hadrhune's words, taken aback by the sudden anger in his voice and the condemning fires blazing in his eyes, and for a moment she wondered if she had reason to fear him after all. She didn't trust her voice not to waver until she had recovered herself, so a brief nod was her only response.

"How?" snapped the seneschal, his eyes veritably burning within his shadow-swathed face now. "Why?"

"The how is quite simple," Aveil told him, with only a slight quaver in her words. "He used a ceremonial dagger imbued with a poison known only to those held in Lolth's highest esteem; it keeps the victim from bleeding out, but not from feeling pain." Her bottom lip trembled a little as she recalled the event, but she mastered herself quickly enough to continue. "As for why… that is a bit more complex. You see… after several months in captivity, it became impossible for me to hide my condition from him."

Hadrhune was on his feet, fury emanating from his body in powerful waves that were almost tangible, though Aveil was almost certain now that his rage was not directed at her. "What do you mean, your condition?!"

Aveil's façade of total confidence flew from her then, replaced by an expression of crippling despair; she was swooning for the floor when Hadrhune lunged forward and caught her in his arms, and it was as he was holding her close that she cried her confession into his shoulder. "I was with child, and he took it! He cut the child from my body and sacrificed it to his damned Spider Queen! My _baby_!"

Fifth Prince Clariburnus melted out of the shadows lining the sacred chamber where the world window was housed and hurried forward, looking quite undignified in his haste; already three other shades were awaiting his arrival, grouped closely around the glimmering world window with incredulous faces. Moving closer Clariburnus recognized three of his brothers – Escanor, Lamorak, and Aglarel – and all but hurled himself into place between the latter two of the three.

"I came as soon as I heard," he panted. It was apparent that he had come straight from military training, for he was still clad in his black glass armor and his greatsword was sheathed in place upon his back. "Is it true?"

Fourth Prince Aglarel's face was all but completely hidden by the low-pulled cowl he wore, but he wordlessly extended a hand and pointed to indicate the world window; Clariburnus glanced down just in time to see a scantily-clad woman that he did not know swoon for the ground, and Hadrhune dash forward to catch her in his arms. They watched silently together, their mouths slightly agape as the woman sobbed into Hadrhune's shoulder and the seneschal simply held her close with an expression of enraged torment chiseled into his every facial feature.

Third Prince Lamorak's voice was stunned. "Who is she? What do we know of her?"

"Does it matter?" Escanor scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning down into the world window as though suspicious of the scene playing out before them. "She is of no consequence. The fact that we are unfamiliar with her is proof enough of that."

Aglarel's head twitched in Escanor's direction, and he spoke softly from beneath his cowl. "That is inaccurate. The woman with Hadrhune is Aveil Arthien, and to say that she is of no consequence is a gross understatement."

Escanor's eyes narrowed. "You know of her?"

"I associated quite frequently with her in the past, when Knellict was still indentured as Archmage of the Citadel of Assassins," Aglarel confessed. "She was moving rapidly through the ranks of the battle mages employed with the Citadel. Of course she was bedding Knellict at the time, so most of the spellcasters there paid her little heed… she proved herself, though, in time."

"How do you mean?" demanded Lamorak.

"Her spell repertoire was, in a word, astounding. She is supremely gifted in the arcane arts, and fought her way up through the highest-reaching ranks until she held the position that Knellict once did. As Archmistress she compiled even more knowledge, from even more impressive fare – long-lost spell tomes that she stole from the dragon Rhadamanthus, whom, as I understand, once claimed Lady Arthien as a prisoner of sorts, as well as an artifact known as the Staff of Winter's Chill, which she inherited from her late father, the last in a line of long-dead snow elf kings. Not only that, but she is a naturally gifted psionist. Mind magic is a specialty of hers, and she comes by this skill as one with an inborn ability." Aglarel lifted his head a fraction, just enough for them to see one of his silver eyes peering out at them from beneath the edge of his cowl. "Apparently she is also quite an accomplished shadow adept. How else might she have come to be within Thultanthar while avoiding apprehension?"

Comprehension dawned quickly upon the other three princes. Clariburnus rounded on Escanor. "She knows how to shadow walk… how is that possible? The magic of the Shadow Weave is a gift known only to the Shadovar!"

"Perhaps Hadrhune has been teaching this outsider a few tricks unbeknownst to the Most High," Lamorak suggested idly, though his eyes flashed forbiddingly as he considered the possibility of secrets being kept from the knowledge of their unholy father.

As much as Escanor wanted to agree with Lamorak's claim, he found himself shaking his head almost at once. "No – Hadrhune is as devout as any of us, and would never deceive the Most High. It is more likely that this Aveil came by her knowledge of the Shadow Weave using other means… though how, I cannot determine." The First Prince glanced over at Aglarel, who was watching him thoughtfully. "How did they come to be acquainted?"

"I cannot answer," admitted Aglarel, "for I do not know."

"If you are so concerned, perhaps that is a question for Hadrhune," Lamorak added.

Escanor gazed back into the world window, where within he witnessed Hadrhune talking softly and rapidly into the sobbing half-elf's ear; the First Prince regarded the seneschal first with suspicion, then with curiosity, and at last with open surprise when Hadrhune stroked the hair away from the woman's face and even wiped gingerly at her tears with his fingertips. Being the oldest of the Most High's sons Escanor remembered well the day that Telamont had brought Hadrhune, then a rebel elf who was barely more than a boy and who possessed far too much knowledge to be left alive, into the City of Shade – and Lord Shadow, who had never suffered traitors or heretics to live for any reason, had been alone with Hadrhune for barely more than an hour and molded him into a devoted extension of his will. It had taken many hundreds of years of servitude before Telamont had allowed Hadrhune to trade his mortal soul for the essence of shadow, thus becoming a shade, and many more before any of the Most High's sons began to trust him to any degree. In all this time Hadrhune had never faltered, had never once strayed from the Most High's express desires and wishes, and had proven himself to be nothing less than one of the most faithful followers of Thultanthar's monarch.

And now here was this woman, by all accounts a mighty sorceress and perhaps even a threat to Thultanthar itself, cradled in Hadrhune's arms like a lover.

"Perhaps it is not a question for Hadrhune," Escanor said at last, "but for the Most High himself. It is clear to me that Hadrhune's mind is clouded on this matter. I will seek the counsel of the High Prince, whose mind is just and unbiased in all things."

With a wave of his hand the First Prince bade the world window to darken, and the four of them dispersed without another word.

The sun was rising – Hadrhune could feel the meager light filtering in through the murk that served as Thultanthar's atmosphere – when the seneschal stirred from his state of reverie. Aveil was asleep beside him, half-turned in his direction with her head propped against his shoulder and her petite hands clutching the front of his shadow shroud even in sleep. This would have been enough of a shock without his arms wound protectively around her in return; he wasn't sure what was most unnerving about this – the fact that he had drawn her close to him as they slept, or the fact that having her close to him brought to him a sense of peace and satisfaction he had never felt before. When Aveil stirred fretfully beside him Hadrhune smoothed the hair away from her face, and the lovely hue of her violet eyes was almost startling when she opened them.

Due to his discomfort, Hadrhune was all business. "Why do you keep the scar? Surely it is not beyond your abilities to cleanse it from your body, yet for years you have been carrying it around on your skin? For what purpose?"

"It is my reminder of the cost of allowing someone to get too close to you," Aveil explained. "I did my best to keep Drako Falconis at bay, but eventually I gave in to my heart and allowed myself to desire him in return. The years of companionship that we shared does nothing to dull the pain that I feel every time I remember just what Lim Tal'eyve took from me. I carry the scar to remind myself that every decision we make comes with its own set of consequences. I could not protect the life I created – perhaps if I had never come to love Drako, I would never have had to endure such trauma."

Hadrhune flexed his arms around her and raised an eyebrow. "And this does not contradict your credo?"

"Of course not," Aveil snarled, bristling immediately as she usually did. "I do not care about you – and even if I did, you are incapable of caring for anyone but yourself."

There were a dozen ways Hadrhune could think of to prove her words null and void, but he chose not to address the issue for the present. As long as he had known her Aveil had hidden her true thoughts and feelings beneath an icy, hostile exterior, but Hadrhune knew better than to believe that was really how she felt about him now. Her words, her demeanor, everything about the previous night was still fresh in his mind, and he knew well enough that because he had glimpsed her vulnerable side she would take care from now on not to let him see it again if she could help it. Instead of lashing out at her in anger he simply chuckled once and drawled, "My mistake."

Aveil disentangled herself from him and stood up, bending at the knee to retrieve her spellcaster's robes; they were still in a heap on the floor in precisely the same spot they had been since she had removed them the night before. Hadrhune watched her dress without protest, his face almost indifferent, and when she had made herself presentable she locked eyes with him. "You will tell the Most High all that I have told you about Lim Tal'eyve?"

By now Hadrhune was on his feet as well, tugging the hood of his shadow shroud back into place so that his elf ears were well hidden. "Right away. You should make yourself available for questioning should the High Prince wish to speak with you directly on any of these matters."

For the first time since the previous night Aveil looked apprehensive, and she confirmed this by saying, "It was wrong of me to come here. My life will be forfeit to the whim of the High Prince from this moment forward."

Hadrhune stepped right up to her, lightly chucking her beneath the chin with one of his fingers to tilt her head back so they were looking one another in the eye. "You did not admit yourself – you were invited, and so you are, by all accounts, a guest. The Most High will appreciate the information that you have given me. There will be no punishment for this."

"You are certain?"

"There can be no doubt," Hadrhune said, in a voice that was almost reassuring.

"And when the Most High calls upon me, as I am certain he will do, you will come to collect me personally?" Aveil asked, watching him expectantly for his refusal.

The seneschal regarded her with an expression that was almost a smile when he said, "Yes. I will come for you myself."

They faced one another uncertainly, as though unsure of how to bid one another farewell; at last Aveil made a decision for the both of them and turned on her heel, dissolving into a murky mist and shadow walking out of Villa Cambria without another word. Hadrhune gazed blankly at the spot where she had last been visible, his keen amber eyes watching each individual particle of shadowstuff drift to the ground, before following suit and shadow walking into the High Prince's audience hall. The scene that awaited Hadrhune was quite unexpected – Most High Telamont was perched upon his onyx throne as though he had been expecting his emissary all along, but he was flanked by First Prince Escanor on the right and Fourth Prince Aglarel on his left. Hadrhune hesitated for only a moment before them, momentarily uncertain how to begin, before he bowed his head in obeisance and addressed Telamont directly. "Most High One, I have managed to come by the information you charged me with acquiring. I am here to deliver it to you in private." He added the last two words rather pointedly, cluing the two younger princes in to the fact that their presence was neither desired nor required, but neither of them budged even an inch.

Telamont leaned forward, an ominous dark figure wreathed all in shadow, his eyes barely more than platinum slits. "I trust Lady Arthien was accommodating?"

Inwardly Hadrhune cursed, and his eyes immediately flitted to Escanor. The First Prince met his gaze uncomplainingly and did an admirable job of appearing innocent, in the seneschal's opinion. Hadrhune scraped his thumbnail over the deep groove in his darkstaff, though he was angrier with himself than anyone else. Aveil Arthien had a way of worming her way into the lives of others, offering them their deepest unfulfilled desires and thus leaving them vulnerable to attack – in his case, she had made him forget that the Most High was privy to all information, and there existed no real secrets in Thultanthar. It was most likely that the High Prince had left Hadrhune to his own devices, but that a handful of his sons had spied on the seneschal's every move using the world window. This realization caused his lip to curl back in a snarl – they had seen him at the mercy of a woman. They had seen his discipline crumble to almost nothing, all on account of a tragic story and a few tears.

There was no point in giving anything but the absolute truth – there never was where the High Prince was concerned. "Beyond anything we may have hoped for, Most High One. The information she had collected regarding Lim Tal'eyve was both extensive and valuable. We now know a great deal more concerning that one than we did before – we are most fortunate."

Telamont nodded broodingly. He had yet to blink. "Indeed. Most fortunate."

"I wonder if perhaps I might disclose it to you _in private_," Hadrhune insisted, watching for Escanor's reaction out of the corner of his eye. "That is, unless my actions are still under close scrutiny."

The High Prince's expression changed ever so slightly at this; it was as though perhaps he wore a smile beneath the shadows covering his face. He waved one hand dismissively at his two sons, saying, "Leave us, that we may discuss these matters further."

"Most High – " Escanor blurted, protest evident even in those two syllables, but the High Prince overrode him at once.

"Trust that I will take your concerns into account, Escanor," said Telamont, and his tone left no room for further discussion. Aglarel became one with the shadows of the audience chamber almost at once and spirited himself away in pursuit of some less than reputable activity, and casting one last glower Hadrhune's way Escanor followed suit.

Certain now that they were alone Hadrhune raised his head a little higher, prepared to plead his case. "Most High One, if I may speak freely."

Telamont laced his fingers together before him, considering carefully, and when he spoke next his voice was low and forbidding. "You have two minutes to set my mind at ease on this matter."

Hadrhune took the High Prince at his word; dipping down to one knee and laying his treasured darkstaff upon the black marble beside him the seneschal ducked his head obediently and spoke quickly and clearly. "I contacted Utimire Solafate as instructed, High Prince, and had every intention of questioning him. However, Lady Arthien stepped in and assured me that she was the leading authority where Lim Tal'eyve was concerned."

"And you believed her?" The words were not so much a question as a condemnation.

Raising a hand Hadrhune tapped the small pewter loop that was pierced through his right earlobe, indicating the tiny dark sapphire laid into the metal, and Telamont nodded sagely. The earring had been one of Telamont's coronation gifts to Hadrhune on the eve of his transformation into a shade, a priceless artifact that emitted a nearly-inaudible hum whenever Hadrhune was being lied to. "Without question, Most High One. As you well know, I have ways of determining such things."

"Continue."

"Lady Arthien offered to divulge all that she knew to me, and it seemed a better option than the previous one. I invited her back to my private villa so that we could discuss the issue." Hadrhune raised his head a fraction. "It seems that Lim Tal'eyve was once the same drow who led the male drow insurrection whilst the Spider Queen Lolth was powerless in the midst of the Time of Troubles. Lady Arthien also confessed that Lim was one of two men responsible for slaying the Lady of Pain in Sigil – a true testament to his capabilities, for as I understand it the Lady of Pain had reached demigod status, is that correct?"

"You are as well informed as always," Telamont conceded. "That is correct. Go on."

"She went on to tell me that her former husband, the air genasi Drako Falconis, defeated Lim Tal'eyve in single combat. Lady Arthien was very clear on the fact that the drow was killed before he had completed his life's pursuits… I am certain that he used that as his bargaining chip against the Spider Queen. Doubtless he spoke of revenge and torture and chaos and she condescended to give him an opportunity to right his wrongs, so to speak." Hadrhune allowed himself a small smirk before adding, "I must admit, Lolth is rather predictable most of the time."

The High Prince seemed to appreciate this: Lolth and Shar, the goddess that every Shadovar within the City of Shade worshipped indisputably, were constantly at odds with one another. "Indeed."

"Furthermore," the seneschal went on, "Lady Arthien was once the personal captive of Lim Tal'eyve, after he was resurrected and made to walk the face of Faerun as a lichdrow. She was able to testify personally to the lichdrow's siege of Heliogabalus, once-great capitol of the Bloodstone Lands and the former seat of power of the late King Gareth Dragonsbane. If I may be so bold as to remind you, it was King Gareth who was responsible for the defeat of the Witch King Zhengyi in recent years." Seeing that Telamont was nodding his approval, Hadrhune decided now was as good a time as any to make his pitch. "Zhengyi was a lich of renown, of whom the bards will sing tales of terror for centuries to come. For Lim Tal'eyve to succeed where Zhengyi failed… that is no small feat, Most High One. If this drow is about to be granted a third life, as all our sources currently indicate, I believe that the Shadow Council would do well to mark his passing, and to prepare well for the cataclysm that he will inevitably wreck in his wake."

Telamont surveyed his chosen emissary over his folded hands for what seemed like hours, mulling over Hadrhune's testimony and deciding for himself whether or not it was sound. The seneschal had served as the Right Hand of the Most High for nearly a thousand years, and in all that time he had never once displayed any irrational or questionable behavior. He followed Telamont's every whim to the letter and, perhaps most importantly, he never questioned the High Prince's wishes. Hadrhune's words rang with truth, and Telamont found that he appreciated his emissary's honesty. He came forward in his onyx throne; Hadrhune braced himself, but his fears were misplaced. "I will concede the fact that Lady Arthien was a wellspring of information on Lim Tal'eyve, and in that regard I will commend you. It seems that your decision in questioning her, and not our original contact, was a sound one. If Lim Tal'eyve is truly capable of feats such as the complete eradication of a grand nation such as Heliogabalus, perhaps we would do well to mark his passing with a bit more care in the days to come." Here the High Prince leaned toward Hadrhune, his platinum eyes piercing through the gloom as he stabbed his index finger in the seneschal's direction. "It is you who will be charged with this task. It is your responsibility to continue to gather information regarding this lichdrow, and your personal errand to determine what effect his return will have upon Thultanthar. Since it is Mistress Arthien who seems to be so well informed where the lichdrow is concerned, I recommend that you utilize her in whatever means necessary to complete this undertaking. He seems to have some personal vendetta against her… it is safe to assume that, should he return to this world, he will seek her out, wouldn't you agree?"

Though Hadrhune was indeed a master of his own emotions and allowed no physical response to show in his expression or posture, he could not hope to hide his true reaction to these words from High Prince Telamont. It was Lord Shadow who had created him, as well as the twelve other privileged shadow beings whom Telamont named his sons, and their souls were a part of his spiritual makeup; this unique exchange left the High Prince privy to the states of physical, mental, and emotional balance or unrest of each and every one of them – much like Soleil Chemaut's empathetic link to every member of the Shadow Court. So even though Hadrhune's face remained perfectly neutral and his posture did not change even a fraction, Telamont was still wise to the seneschal's true feelings toward his words – he felt the internal flinch that was Hadrhune's repulsion at the idea of purposely placing Aveil in harm's way, heard the conflicting thoughts that flitted impulsively through his mind: _I cannot allow that to happen! _Followed almost immediately by _No! I am faithful to the Most High, above all others!_

Hadrhune's verbal response was measured and obedient, as always. "I do agree, Most High One. Your logic in this matter cannot be questioned."

Telamont stared back at his chosen emissary for a moment, mildly surprised by all that he had discovered in such a short period of time. Not once in the Most High's superb memory could he recall even the mildest opposition from Hadrhune – now his most loyal underling was suffering a conflict of interest between the higher power he followed unquestioningly and a woman of little, if absolutely no consequence? Telamont rose slowly from his throne and descended the black marble stairs until there remained only a few inches separating him from his subordinate, and once there he beckoned for the seneschal to rise; Hadrhune hastened to obey, his eyes fixed respectfully upon the dark floor underfoot.

"Look at me," Telamont requested, his voice quiet but compelling, and when Hadrhune snapped his eyes up to meet the High Prince's gaze the internal conflict was apparent in the depths of those keen amber orbs. Telamont bent a little, bringing himself a bit nearer to his emissary's height – tall for the elf he had once been, Hadrhune's six foot frame still made him the shortest shade on the Shadow Council – and when he spoke his words were carefully measured. "You have been in my service for centuries. No one can question the depths of your loyalty, or the true measure of your worth."

"I desire only to serve you, Most High One," Hadrhune offered, his tone a sober one. "There could be no higher privilege or purpose."

"Then kindly explain to me your intentions where Mistress Arthien is concerned, that I might better determine your dedication to my designs."

Hadrhune ran a hand down his face; abruptly his expression transformed from its smooth mask of detachment into the twisted visage of a tormented man. Telamont heard quite keenly the moment when Hadrhune's thumbnail gouged deeply into the well-worn groove in the shaft of his treasured darkstaff. "I detest and distrust her, Most High One. Her true intentions are never clear, and those whom she names among her allies are perhaps at greater risk of losing their lives than her most hated adversaries. She pursues that which she wants relentlessly and without even the thought of failure, and she cares little for how her actions affect those around her." The seneschal paused to draw a deep breath, and suddenly it seemed that his anger had burned itself out; when he exhaled, his face crumpled into an expression that could only be described as confusion. "And yet… I have heard the sincerity of her words, and I have borne witness to the true horrors that she has survived. I have seen with my own eyes real emotions – terror, desperation, even longing – despite her greatest efforts to hide them. She seeks me out to offer her counsel on matters of great importance, yet for all my vigilance I cannot see any personal benefit from her actions." Hadrhune dared to raise his chin and meet the High Prince's eyes then, finishing, "I believe that my judgment is sound in this, and that my loyalty to you has in no way been compromised… but I must confess, Lady Arthien has been the center of my thoughts often of late."

Telamont nodded along his understanding, though inwardly he was still more than a little surprised by Hadrhune's confession. It wasn't that the seneschal had attempted to withhold any more information – rather, the mild astonishment came from knowing that the one man Telamont had always counted on to remain emotionally detached from every situation he was a part of had allowed himself to become personally invested in another's affairs for the first time in his life. How this would affect Hadrhune's performance in Shadovar business to come was indeterminable now, but Telamont was fairly certain that it would not be an issue. Nevertheless the High Prince felt it necessary to caution the seneschal. "Whether Mistress Arthien will prove to be an asset or a detriment to the City of Shade I cannot yet say, however make no mistake: if it seems that you come to value her well being over the advancement of Thultanthar, you will both suffer consequences. I elevated you at great personal cost, and while it is true that you have served me well for many decades, do not forget – if at any time your usefulness reaches its end, so too will your life. Am I in any way unclear?"

Hadrhune nodded solemnly once, having already surmised as much on his own. "I will not disappoint you, Most High One. I will make it my first priority to assure you that your faith in me is not misplaced."

"Then go," Telamont bade him. "The morning grows long, and you have much to do." The High Prince watched his chosen emissary retreat into the deepening shadows lining the audience hall, his brow furrowed with a hint of lingering displeasure, before aiming his parting note at Hadrhune's back. "And do proceed with caution should you choose to pursue Mistress Arthien in a personal manner. I daresay she will not prove as accommodating as our dear Soleil when it comes to serving as your concubine."

The slight stumble in Hadrhune's step was more than enough to confirm that which the Most High, in his infinite wisdom, already knew.


	5. Chapter 5

Five: Pursuits, Political and Personal

Though Second Prince Rivalen was the single most devout Shadovar in all of Thultanthar, he often communed with the goddess Shar far more when he was away from her grand chapel. Worship of Shar was required for all Shadovar residing within the enclave, something that each and every one of them considered a great honor, but unfortunately for Rivalen that usually meant that his divine wisdom was constantly being sought by all manner of common rabble throughout public communion. Morning worship on that day was no exception, and by the time Rivalen returned to his private residence he was so desperate to speak with his goddess privately that he pointedly locked the door to his prayer room and all but flung himself down before the altar he had erected centuries before in Shar's praise.

He had felt the unrest in his mind for hours, the mental chaos that could only signify Shar's insistence that he commune with her at once. His first words to her spilled from his lips in a rush. "Speak to me, Exalted Lady. Deliver unto me your will that I might better serve you."

The echo of Shar's voice in Rivalen's mind was supremely refreshing, rather akin to a man dying of dehydration taking his first sip of life-giving water. _Today is an important day for you and your city, mortal. Are you aware as to why?_

Rivalen had learned in all his centuries of dealing with the Dark Lady of the Shadow Weave that it was far better to seem ignorant than to come across as all-knowing; Shar derived a great deal of enjoyment from enlightening her followers, and the High Priest of Thultanthar was certainly no exception. "No, Blessed Mother. I beg of you, enlighten me."

_Today Lord Shadow intends to take great strides toward advancing your inconsequential enclave, servant. The cities of Waterdeep and Silverymoon will play host to two of the High Prince's delegations as they seek peaceable alliances, and a third contingent will visit the Dragon Coast in your monarch's efforts to secure powerful allies for the inevitable conflicts that will follow. None of these meetings will play out as Lord Shadow expects._

With the exception of Shar's ever-cryptic insight into the outcome of the High Prince's affairs, these were all things that Prince Rivalen was well aware of. He would be making the journey to Waterdeep himself at the conclusion of the dawn gathering of the Shadow Council. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to pass along the goddess's enigmatic clue to the High Prince. "I have faith that our efforts will be guided along by your nurturing hand, Dark Mistress."

_I have come to commune with you about none of these things, thrall. I have sought your ear to depart tidings of an unrelated matter._

At these words, Rivalen sat up a little straighter. "What matter, Divine Lady?"

_Several among you have exhausted multiple resources in a futile search for information regarding Lim Tal'eyve, the Bitch Queen's favored pet. _The venom in the goddess's disembodied voice was impossible to misinterpret – but then, Shar and Lolth had opposed one another on all matters for eons. _Lolth plans to grant him yet another half-life, and allow him to walk the Material Plane once more._

Rivalen's eyes snapped open, luminous silver pinpricks in the gloom. "When?!"

_Today is his test. The Spider Queen means to allow the drow's essence to choose its own form – if he can succeed in this, she will return him to lichdom. I warn you, servant – if you do not put a stop to this plot, your entire enclave will suffer my wrath. _

Now Rivalen was on his feet, prepared to shadow walk out of his private residence and directly into the meeting hall of the Shadow Council – he was already late for the dawn gathering as it was. "Who does the drow mean to use as his sacrifice?!"

The goddess's disembodiless voice grew cold. _The Mistress of the Night does not grant information that is already known!_

Abruptly the Second Prince felt very alone, and he took this to mean that his goddess had left him. Without further ado he turned sharply on his heel and dissolved into his own shadow, navigating the vast expanse of the Shadow Weave until he located the familiar rift in the fabric of proverbial darkness that was the Shadow Council's meeting hall. When he next materialized and took on his corporeal form he was standing just behind his seat at the table, facing the Most High, his eleven brothers, Hadrhune, and Soleil.

The High Prince made his displeasure known at once – Telamont detested tardiness for any reason. "I trust there is a good explanation for your lateness, Rivalen? Surely you recall well enough the great importance of this particular day?"

Rivalen did not even bother to take his seat, instead directly facing the Most High and delivering his information without so much as requesting permission to give it. "High Prince, I have just communed privately with the Mistress of the Night. The Exalted Lady has informed me that the Spider Queen Lolth will be unleashing Lim Tal'eyve's essence upon the face of Faerun _today_."

The irritation in Telamont's face was wiped clean by this news, replaced with just a touch of incredulity. "And did the Dark Lady divulge the reason for her generous gift of knowledge?"

"No, Most High One, her reasoning was not clear. She would say only that if we do not put a stop to the lichdrow's resurrection ourselves, she will rain her wrath down upon Thultanthar."

Twelfth Prince Brennus had his hands braced upon the table in front of him, his handsome bronze eyes slitted with sudden strain. "How is it possible for us to put a stop to this?! I need not remind any of you just how vast Faerun is! Lim Tal'eyve may choose anyone to serve as his sacrifice!"

Sixth Prince Yder shot a glare Rivalen's way. "Did you not think to beseech Mistress Shar to unveil the name of the drow's vessel?"

The Second Prince cast his two younger brothers a withering look. "Do not insult my intelligence. Of course I asked for the name of the lichdrow's target. Unfortunately in this, the Dark Lady was as cryptic as ever. She insisted that she would not give me the answer because the answer is known to one among our number already."

For those among the Shadow Council who were not privy to the events of the previous night, what occurred next was very strange; Escanor, Lamorak, Aglarel, and Clariburnus snapped their shrewd gazes upon the seneschal Hadrhune, who had been sitting in his chair at the foot of the table in a rather sober state of unnatural silence. The moment the last of Rivalen's words had left his mouth Hadrhune sat up straight, his amber eyes burning within the darkness of his face, and said, "The lichdrow's target is known to me. He will choose Aveil Arthien."

The utter confusion was apparent in more than one face – including Soleil, who voiced the obvious question. "…Who?"

"The Archmistress of the Citadel of Assassins," Hadrhune clarified in a stiff voice. "A psionist of renown and uncrowned queen of snow elves."

"What is the lichdrow's tie to this woman?" inquired Eleventh Prince Melegaunt, but Most High Telamont had heard enough.

"Sit and be silent, all of you," commanded the High Prince, in a voice that held no room for leniency, and the moment that the fourteen other members of the esteemed Thultanthar Shadow Council had obeyed he continued to address them. "Here now is my will: Rivalen, you will be in charge of the follow up negotiations with the Lords of Waterdeep, who have by now reached their final decision and are prepared to deliver their verdict. I suspect that they will accept our proposal and choose to ally with the City of Shade, for the alternative is to openly oppose our conquest of the Heartlands and Open Lord Paladinson is well aware that his armies would crumble before the army of Shade. To accomplish this, I grant you the services of Mattick, Vattick, and Brennus. I trust your brothers will serve you well.

"Escanor, you must now turn your attentions upon the city of Silverymoon, where the venerable Lady Alustriel awaits the arrival of the delegation from Thultanthar. It is my hope that she will accept your offer of goodwill and friendship, but I do not expect her to be so optimistic in the end. Lamorak, Rapha, and Melegaunt will go with you – Alustriel will appreciate their collective… charm.

"Aglarel, it falls to you to lead the operation on the Dragon Coast. The current usurper, a particularly malevolent wyrm called Shaepulanderex, will receive you most rudely and will more than likely not warm up to your presence as the meeting progresses. Doubtless the confrontation will come to blows, though by now you have deduced as much on your own – I give you Clariburnus, Yder, Dethud, and Soleil to overthrow the wyrm and claim his armies in the name of Thultanthar. I have little doubt that we will need them for the many conflicts that will soon arise."

"Would you prefer that I brought the dragon to you in chains," asked Aglarel idly, "or in pieces?"

The High Prince flashed a brief fang-filled grin. "Red dragons rarely form lasting alliances, and almost never taste good in soup."

Hadrhune opened his mouth in protest, saying, "Most High One, you have not yet told me where I might best serve your designs."

"Is it not obvious?" drawled Telamont, the mirth vanishing from his face as quickly as it had appeared. "Your mission today is a solitary one – you will make your way to Neverwinter, where Archmistress Arthien keeps her current residence. If it is the will of Shar that Lim Tal'eyve be thwarted, I can think of no better man for the job. After all, is it not thanks to you that we seem to have landed ourselves in this predicament?" When Hadrhune said nothing, Telamont finished coolly, "It seems that, at present, the only way to put a stop to the lichdrow's return is to offer our protection to the sorceress Aveil – and since you were so eager to do so before, you shall do so now, at your peril."

The seneschal bowed his head. "If it pleases the Most High, it shall be done."

"We are finished here," concluded Telamont, motioning for them to rise. "You have your assignments. There is little room for error, as you well know – as you value your lives, do not fail me."

Rivalen beckoned to Brennus and the twin princes Mattick and Vattick, who hearkened to his gesture at once and moved to his side. "Let us depart," the High Priest of Shar said to them. "It would not do for us to keep Open Lord Paladinson and his sycophantic advisors awaiting our arrival for long."

The other three nodded their heads assent, and the four princes stole into the Shadow Weave and vanished in a wisp of black mist.

First Prince Escanor circled the table to Soleil's side at once and drew her into his arms, tilting her head back with his index finger so that he could look her in the eye. "Red dragons are the most volatile of their kind, Soleil, as I'm certain that you know. I am sorry I cannot accompany you."

Soleil waved a hand behind her, to the corner of the conference room where Aglarel, Clariburnus, Yder, and Dethud stood waiting. "Perhaps if the Most High insisted upon sending me by myself I would be concerned, but as you can see I have been given far more than merely average protection. Do not fear for me, Prince." She broke off with a sly wink, finishing, "I believe I am far from worthless – have I not proven as much on many occasions?"

Escanor looked flabbergasted by her words, perhaps even a touch embarrassed; behind him, his remaining brothers laughed aloud at his expense. Even High Prince Telamont allowed the smallest of smiles to flash fleetingly across his face, adding, "Let the girl go, Escanor. She is the Left Hand of the Most High, after all – shade or not, she if far more capable than most."

The mountebank offered Lord Shadow a deep bow in thanks and a kiss on the cheek to the First Prince, and then accepting Prince Clariburnus's elbow she shadow walked out of the meeting hall with the rest of the delegation bound for the Sword Coast. Only Escanor, Lamorak, Rapha, Melegaunt, and Hadrhune had yet to depart.

"Yours is perhaps the most crucial mission of all," Most High Telamont said to his eldest son, his grave tone aptly reflecting the seriousness of the situation. "Lady Alustriel is a queen in a world dominated by powerful and influential Faerunian kings; her wisdom and fairness have earned her not only the supreme respect of her subjects, but a place in the annals of history. Her curiosity for all things she does not understand and her empathy for the so-called imperiled races will make her the most sympathetic to our cause, but do not take that to mean that the decision is already made. It will take all of your knowledge of diplomacy to convince Alustriel to lend her support to Thultanthar – I need not remind you that if we gain Silverymoon, we hold sway over the Silver Marches… perhaps all of the Northwest."

First Prince Escanor bowed to his father's wishes, and his three younger brothers hastened to follow suit. "I will not disappoint you, Most High One." And beckoning to the others Escanor added, "Let us away." Then the last of the Twelve Princes of Shade shadow walked out of the great meeting hall.

Hadrhune stood hunched over his chair, unaware that he gripped the high back tightly with both of his hands until Telamont approached him and said, "We all have our parts to play, Hadrhune. Shar calls for me to relinquish each and every one of my own sons to her service this day – perhaps none of them will return. Perhaps the great City of Shade will fall tomorrow." When the seneschal glanced up into the eyes of the High Prince of Thultanthar, alarm sketched all over his face, Telamont hitched a crooked sort of half smile onto his dark lips as though grimly amused. "It may be that our magnificent empire will collapse as all those of our ancient Netherese ancestors did before it, or it may come to pass that you will be responsible for the complete eradication of the cancer that is Lim Tal'eyve. We have no way of knowing what will be – all we can do is decide to act, or to be idle. And in its own way, inaction is far worse than outright failure." Telamont watched Hadrhune's face carefully, watching each and every word as it was processed behind the seneschal's amber eyes, and felt a strange kind of pride stirring within his chest when his emissary at last answered.

"You are correct, my sovereign, as you always are – it may be that the lichdrow will best me today, and that I will lay my life down in the defense of Thultanthar." Suddenly, Hadrhune's eyes blazed with amber flame. "But as long as there is life left in me, Lim Tal'eyve will fear me."

Telamont offered a rare smile, one that showed every single one of his ceremonial fangs. "Then go, and may the Mistress of the Night keep you."

Hadrhune bowed, sweeping the hem of his shadow shroud out wide with one hand as he did so. "As you command."

And then the last of the Shadow Council members had gone, leaving High Prince Telamont with nothing to do but retreat to the world window and await the final verdicts of their endeavors.

It was a solemn tread that brought Hadrhune to the rift in the Shadow Weave, the rift that would lead him back to the corporeal plane and into Neverwinter. This was the first time since his own self-imposed exile that he would set foot in the city of his birth since… just how long had it been? The years fell away from him as he allowed himself to recall simpler, much younger days – the years prior to his transmutation into a shade were often the most difficult to remember. Eighteen decades? The elf who called himself Hadrhune had been little more than a boy then, eager to carve for himself a legacy that wouldn't soon be forgotten but all but clueless as to how.

He tightened his grip upon the darkstaff, the cherished weapon that had been the Most High's treasured gift to him on the eve of his transmutation. He was no longer a boy, but a man – he was not a feeble, mortal creature, but a being of superior import. It was not Lim Tal'eyve, servant of the Spider Queen Lolth, that would be securing his legacy today, but the Right Hand of Most High Telamont.

With all of these things in mind Hadrhune exited the Shadow Weave through the miniscule tear in the rift, setting foot on the intricately carved cobblestones of the Winged Wyvern, one of the three bridges spanning the Neverwinter River and leading into the heart of the city's many meandering avenues. It was mid morning over the Lands That See the Sun; the sunlight glared down in full from its place in the sky just east of its zenith, bathing the cobblestones in a dry heat that was almost unbearable. Hadrhune had armed himself with daylight-repellant enchantments, though, and the ever-present darkness that wreathed his form had deepened to its blackest protective murk the moment he had exited the Weave. He made his way cautiously to the central pavilion, and once there he paused and took a look around.

"Where are the people?" he mused beneath his breath, his brow creasing with suspicion. "At midday, in this weather… the pavilion should be crowded. And yet there isn't a soul…"

Hadrhune turned on his heel and stalked from one end of the pavilion to the other, beating an unfamiliar path down one gently winding cobblestoned avenue that led into a cul-de-sac of private lodgings. Before departing Thultanthar he had whisked himself to the world window in the Most High's audience hall, for though he was certain that Aveil currently resided somewhere in Neverwinter he hadn't a clue as to where. He recalled the moment the fog had cleared over the world window and shown him the image of the angel-faced sorceress he sought, and the image that greeted him nearly took his breath away: Aveil was alone in her home and peacefully asleep, her lovely alabaster face almost innocent as she dreamed. It was only by reminding himself that soon he would be seeing her in person that the seneschal was able to tear himself away from the image and complete the shadow walk to Neverwinter.

He stood before her abode now with his eyes narrowed and his thumbnail gouging another rivet in the well-worn groove in his darkstaff, unable to shake the feeling of uneasiness that gripped him, certain beyond the shadow of any doubt that something was amiss.

That was when the front windows shattered into millions of shards of glass, and an unearthly howl resonated in his sensitive elf ears.

Only Twelfth Prince Brennus noticed the slight stumble to Rivalen's step and took note of the flash of indignation that crossed his face; the High Priest of Shar turned to face them, his features impossibly obscured by the perpetual veil of darkness that surrounded them as they passed through the immeasurable Shadow Weave. The displeasure saturating his voice was the only thing left unmasked by the gloom when he said, "It seems that the Lords of Waterdeep mean to deny us entrance."

Brennus narrowed his eyes, rage bubbling up in his chest; nearby Mattick and Vattick, indistinguishable from one another for the moment, exchanged a mutinous glance. "How can that be?" asked the loremaster. "First Prince Escanor spoke with the Open Lord only yesterday. Paladinson assured that the delegation from Shade would be received graciously – or what the Waterdhavians name as gracious these days."

Rivalen gestured to the miniscule tear in the fabric of the Shadow Weave, the point where he meant to lead his brothers back onto the Material Plane. It became apparent the moment Brennus leaned around him to inspect it that the rift had been somehow sealed, barring their entrance. Having been present at the first round of negotiations with the Lords of Waterdeep, Brennus was familiar with this rift in the Shadow Weave – the precise location of the audience hall from which the Lords decided affairs of state as a single cohesive unit.

He whirled on Rivalen, bronze eyes burning in the dark and ceremonial fangs bared in an unattractive snarl. "They wouldn't dare refuse an audience with the Most High's own sons!"

Second Prince Rivalen snorted, a most undignified sound that very clearly suggested he was not at all surprised. "It seems that is precisely what they mean to do, young brother."

Ninth Prince Vattick retreated a short distance away from his three brothers, though his twin lingered close at hand. After allowing Rivalen and Brennus to debate the issue for a moment longer the illusionist straightened and interrupted smoothly, saying, "We did not come here to submit ourselves to such petty squabbles – nor do we wish to return to the Most High before our mandate has been fulfilled. Here is our solution." He broke off by pointing to yet another tear in the delicate fabric of the blackened void; a moment's recollection was all it took for Brennus to catch on to his meaning.

"The front gate of Waterdeep Tower – you mean to confront them for this?"

"You would allow their blatant disrespect for the High Prince's will to pass uncontested?" Vattick fired back, and he crossed his arms. "This non-reception of theirs is proof enough of their intentions – they mean to shun the Most High's generous proposal of alliance. They mean to oppose the City of Shade."

Unsurprisingly, Mattick threw his lot in with his twin almost at once. "There can be no question in this. They must have gone through great lengths to bar our passage through the use of the Shadow Weave."

"The Most High wished to form an alliance with Waterdeep!" Brennus hissed. "Not to erase any progress we have made toward securing their support for the enclave's future endeavors!" The loremaster rounded on Rivalen, hoping that the eldest prince among them would see reason. "Rivalen, I beseech you – surely you understand that this is not the way?"

Rivalen's gaze was somehow vacant, as though he had caught a glimpse of something the others could not see. Refocusing on the issue at hand he murmured, "Lady Shar was quite clear when she told me that none of these affairs will play out in the way the Most High has determined. He was certain that the Lords of Waterdeep, in their ultimate cowardice, would balk at the idea of crossing swords with the armies of Shade and thus ally with the enclave in order to preserve their pitiable way of life. This is no longer the case, Brennus. As the extension of the Most High's will in this matter, it falls to me to decide how to respond to this unforeseen circumstance." The Second Prince stepped right up to the rift in the realm of shadow, the tear in the fabric between worlds that would lead them to the doorstep of Waterdeep Tower, and said, "We will punish them for their insolence."

Brennus attempted to protest further. "But – "

The Second Prince whirled on him, silver eyes burning within his shadow-swathed face, and hissed, "If you are so opposed to my agenda then by all means – return to the Most High. Tell him that you disobeyed the express wish of your elder brother and see if he favors your cause when I return!" And without awaiting a reply Rivalen stepped through the tear in the Shadow Weave and vanished, presumably to appear before the front gate of Waterdeep Tower.

Mattick followed with a sympathetic glance cast his youngest brother's way, and Vattick laid a hand bracingly down upon Brennus's narrow shoulder. "We do not have the authority to dispute our brother's claim on this," Vattick murmured softly. "The Most High sent us here to accomplish this task, knowing that we would have to answer to Rivalen in the event that something went awry. What will you do? Will you truly turn back? The Most High will only be displeased."

Brennus looked up, his bronze eyes skeptical and wary. "Of course I will follow Rivalen's will – I am bound to the hierarchy of the Twelve Princes of Shade the same as any of you, and follow it just as faithfully. But make no mistake – this errand can only end in failure, or worse, disobedience. You know as well as I our older brother's penchant for vengeance; if the Lords of Waterdeep have really made the mistake of denying us audience and are merely holed up within their tower, Rivalen will slaughter them all."

"Then Rivalen's word is law here – and it is Rivalen who will suffer if the High Prince is displeased with his decision." Vattick beckoned toward the rift in the Shadow Weave. "For now, come. We will participate where necessary. Following orders is not a crime, brother."

They stepped through the tear in the black spatial fabric together, just in time to see the hem of Mattick's purple-black illusionist robes whip through a crack in the great double doors leading into Waterdeep Tower. Exchanging a mildly apprehensive glance Vattick and Brennus hastened to follow, slinking through the door that remained slightly ajar and admitting themselves into the grand foyer. Inside they were met with a startling sight – the palace guards standing watch in the foyer had all been slain, and their corpses lay strewn in grotesque disarray at Rivalen's feet.

"What is this?!" demanded Brennus, eyes wide as he regarded the carnage that his older brother had wrecked within the foyer. "Rivalen! Have you lost your senses?! What do you hope to gain in murdering all of these men?!"

Vattick's eyes were narrowed now as well, and he took a smooth step in front of Brennus as though to conceal him. "Do you think the citizens of Waterdeep will not retaliate when they discover what has happened here? Will you put an end to all of their lives as well, and deliver the Most High a graveyard over which to rule?"

Rivalen bent to wipe the ebony blade of his ceremonial dagger on the tunic of the slain Waterdhavian guard nearest to him, his eyes shimmering with rage. "Why do you question me?! Have I not made it perfectly clear that in this, you are to follow _my _word?!"

"We follow your word in all things!" Brennus bellowed, skirting around Vattick to stand up to his brother. "But in this, your word is madness!"

"Enough of this," sighed Mattick, crossing his arms and looking bored, and on closer inspection it became apparent that there was a thin iron wand hanging loosely from the fingertips of Mattick's left hand – had he participated in the slaughter? "I will endeavor to bring this into better perspective for all of you: it says nothing for the strength and conviction of Thultanthar if we do not respond to the rudeness with which the Lords of Waterdeep have handled this negotiation. There can be no question that we must confront them and at the very least demand an explanation for their actions. You are all correct – it would be counter-productive for the four of us to make the whole of Waterdeep suffer for the transgressions of their ruling body, but neither can we sit idly by and allow these so-called Lords to insult our city so. The conclusion is clear: we would do well to make an example of the cowards who dare to call themselves the Lords of Waterdeep, while appearing 'merciless' in the eyes of the common rabble."

This explanation was met with relative silence as Rivalen, Brennus, and Vattick considered Mattick's proposed middle ground, but it did not need much consideration. At length, Rivalen condescended to speak. "Well said, brother. That is precisely what we should do." He snapped his silver eyes upon Brennus, who regarded him with mild disdain. "Will you argue still? Or will you stop questioning my authority and follow orders, as you should have done from the start?"

Brennus knew that to argue further on this point would surely lead him to punishment when they returned to Thultanthar, and so he spread his arms in obeisance as he bent slightly at the waist. "I grant you my support, but I warn you – if your 'punishment' seems excessive, I will re-evaluate my stance on the matter."

"As will I," Vattick promised, and Rivalen couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"There is little room in the City of Shade for petty squabbles and melodrama," Rivalen snapped, and slipping the ceremonial dagger back into a fold of his cleric's robes he beckoned them onward. "For now, come. All that remains to deter us from our goal is one staircase, and perhaps a door behind which the cowards think they are safe."

The four dark figures fell in together and began to scale the white marble spiral staircase at a leisurely pace, unconcerned for what awaited them at the top, and it was as they were making the climb that Mattick glanced back at the youngest among them and asked, "You were here with Escanor when the first round of negotiations took place, were you not? Did Escanor not say how rude the Lords were?"

Brennus nodded. Not only had Escanor spoken similar words when recounting the tale to the Most High, the others who had been present for the negotiation had protested vehemently as to the Waterdhavian's appalling behavior toward the delegation from Shade. Even the doppelganger Phendrana had confessed to being quite taken aback by the treatment of the Most High's sons. "This is all true."

"Then why do you protest? Surely you are at least in part pleased that the Lords of Waterdeep are about to receive their just rewards?"

"Of course I am," Brennus sighed. "I am just as firm a believer as any of you in the idea that all things owed to Thultanthar should be delivered – respect perhaps foremost among these things. However, I am an even stronger advocate for the unfaltering loyalty owed to the Most High. We owe that to him first and foremost, and until my dying breath, I will give it."

Rivalen clucked his tongue by way of protesting but otherwise did not respond. The four Shadovar princes then crested the spiral staircase and found themselves in the circular reception hall where audiences usually awaited a meeting with the Open Lords of Waterdeep; here the floor was white marble inlaid with rivulets of gold and silver, and the walls were lined with handsomely sculpted busts of each of the Lords currently serving in office. The door at the opposite end of the chamber was firmly closed, and they all supposed it was securely locked also. The twins strolled right up to the door and examined it wordlessly for a moment before turning back.

"Locked," Vattick confirmed, matching Rivalen's deep scowl. "With your permission?"

"At your leisure," Rivalen acquiesced.

Ninth Prince Vattick shook the sleeve of his illusionist's robes back from his right hand and extended his littlest finger, upon which he wore a thin golden band that wound intricately around a small, opaque opal that flashed pale pink in the light from the chandelier overhead. He extended his hand and leveled the opal in line with the lock, and as they watched the stone fashioned itself into a mold of the key required to open the door. Vattick inserted the mold and turned his wrist slightly, and the door swung open. The ring returned to its natural shape, glittering placidly as Vattick gestured to the door with a sweep of his other arm.

"After you, brother," said Vattick with a smile, and Rivalen snickered beneath his breath and led the way inside.

It was just as they had assumed – there sat the nine Lords of Waterdeep in their high-backed and bejeweled thrones, holding their masked heads high as though they had just accomplished something grand. It was almost laughable how the atmosphere changed the moment Second Prince Rivalen stalked into their midst with his three younger brothers behind him – the warmth in the room all but evaporated, to be replaced with a nearly-tangible chill, and the Lords' shoulders hunched as they cowered back into their grand thrones in fear. Only the Open Lord, Piergieron Paladinson, managed not to regard the delegation from Shade with trepidation, though he did have to work to hide his scowl of complete loathing. Rivalen swept wrathfully right up before the Open Lord's throne and halted barely ten feet away, bidding his three brothers to wait just behind him with the smallest ripple of the fingers of his right hand.

Piergieron Paladinson rose from his throne as though outraged. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?! You admit yourselves into the audience chamber of the Lords of Waterdeep unannounced, and you do not even offer us the respect deserving of our stations?! I pray there has been some oversight, for your sakes!"

In that moment, as the discourteous greeting of the Open Lord washed over the four Princes of Shade, their disagreements from the recent past were all but forgotten. Silently and unanimously they all vowed to protect one another in whatever way seemed necessary, and to unite against the injustices they now faced. Rivalen took yet another step forward, his face composed and almost deceptively serene. "You speak as though we are the transgressors, when we all know that it is _you_ who is at fault here! You agreed to host this delegation – you gave the Most High himself your word! We come to honor your summons, and what do we find? The rift in the Shadow Weave sealed, the door to your great chamber locked – you would deny us the right to counsel that we have already been granted, and then cower behind your doors?"

Rivalen's form blurred out of sight for a moment, his figure barely more than a shadow, only to rematerialize behind the throne of the Masked Lord on Paladinson's immediate right. He draped himself over the back of the regal chair almost lazily, his sudden proximity rooting the seated Masked Lord to the spot.

"As if a mere door could keep us out," he hissed in the man's ear. "As if we, the Princes of Shade, would allow this affront to stand uncontested."

Then the sacred ebony blade of Shar's high priest entered the Masked Lord's back, tearing easily through muscle and sinew as it slid between his ribs and slashed out a lung. Rivalen smiled down at the twitching body of the man impaled upon his blade, his ceremonial fangs glinting diamond-white in the light from the sun streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, and tore the dagger from the Masked Lord's flesh in a way that dislodged him from his great throne; he sprawled face-up on the white marble floor, his mask slipping from his face as blood blossomed around him. It was obvious in the vacant set of his eyes that the life had already flown from his body.

The other Lords leapt from their thrones with a collective roar of fury and loss, but Rivalen seemed unconcerned as his eyes flitted to regard his three fellow princes. "Eliminate them. Leave Paladinson to me."

A casual onlooker blinking at the wrong moment would easily have missed the carnage that followed. One moment the Masked Lords were on their feet and clambering for weapons, and the next the Princes of Shade had succeeded in plunging the room into horrific and sudden silence. The corpses of the Masked Lords lay precisely where they had stood just a second before, bodies contorted painfully and pools of blood intertwining until the white marble was covered with a morbid crimson canvas. Mattick, Vattick and Brennus stood flanking Rivalen in the moment after the massacre, faces emotionless, bodies unexerted, enchanted daggers dripping ruby droplets at their sides.

Rivalen faced Paladinson, the left side of his mouth crooked upward in a smirk as he tucked his bloodied blade away. The Open Lord's face was as pale as newly fallen snow.

"This is Thultanthar's judgment, decided upon by the Twelve Princes of Shade and carried out in the name of Most High Telamont." Rivalen swept one arm out behind him to indicate the mess of torn bodies that littered the floor of the audience hall, his face devoid of any remorse. "We regret very much having to leave the governing body of Waterdeep with so little political support, but the Princes of Shade are not barbarians. It is fortunate that the people have you to look to in the days to come, and that they are not leaderless – especially now that Thultanthar is declaring war upon Waterdeep."

Paladinson stumbled forward a step, his hands held palms-up before him as though pleading. "Please! I beg of you! You can't – "

"But we can," Rivalen overrode him, "and we will. Whether by treaty or by sword you _will_ bow to the City of Shade – I trust you will make the right decision."

And without another word the Princes of Shade shadow-walked out of Waterdeep, leaving Open Lord Piergieron Paladinson alone with the bodies of the men who, until just a minute before, had been standing right beside him.

First Prince Escanor paced the length of the tranquil, sparsely furnished audience chamber with his hands clasped behind his back and his mouth set into a perpetual snarl. The negotiations with the city of Silverymoon were progressing just as the Most High, in his infinite wisdom, had anticipated: so far Lady Alustriel was had received them just as they had come to expect. Compared to the other monarchs of great nations Escanor had visited Alustriel was far more accommodating – she had greeted the four Princes of Shade most graciously and welcomed them into the Ivory Tower pleasantly enough. Though conversing with her was natural and their fears of being disrespected had long since been assuaged, Alustriel had been quick to make one thing perfectly clear: she had no intention of pledging her kingdom to a long-standing alliance with Thultanthar, and it was unlikely that her stance in the matter would change for any reason.

About an hour into the process one of the Lady's advisors actually interrupted them, begging their forgiveness and bowing feverishly half a dozen times before whispering rapidly into Alustriel's ear. Though the Lady of Silverymoon was always careful about giving anything away her luminous emerald eyes widened a fraction at whatever news her advisor was divulging, and after a hurried apology she excused herself to attend to matters unknown. They had been awaiting her return for a quarter of an hour now with no word as to her whereabouts.

Eleventh Prince Melegaunt watched his oldest brother pace as he relaxed back in one of the chairs that lined the audience chamber, one corner of his mouth curled back in a smirk. "What has you so harassed? The Lady is simply stalling, that is all."

Escanor cocked his head irritably in Melegaunt's direction. "Stalling?"

Melegaunt stretched out luxuriously, seeming perfectly at ease. "It is a legitimate negotiation technique. When the hosting party begins to feel uncomfortable with the proposed terms or a particular topic of the compromise she practices avoidance. This can take many forms, from changing the subject to excusing oneself to attend to an unrelated matter. One hopes that this will result in the visiting party growing exasperated and ultimately dismissing itself, and so the negotiation remains unresolved – which is far more favorable to the hosting party than agreeing to unfavorable terms."

Anger shone in Tenth Prince Rapha's eyes. "Surely she wouldn't be foolish enough to practice such uncivilized behavior when Thultanthar is involved?!"

Third Prince Lamorak crossed his arms and hunkered down in his seat, his brow creased as he considered. "Surely not. Lady Alustriel is wise beyond her years. Doubtless she would see the folly in such a foolish choice."

Escanor resumed his pacing, saying only, "We will see."

As if on cue Alustriel's advisor, a wizened dwarf in simple white cleric's robes leaning heavily upon an ornate staff, came shuffling back into their midst. Four sets of bejeweled eyes wreathed in perpetual darkness watched him make his way into the center of the audience chamber, and once there he bowed politely. "The Lady beseeches you to forgive her rudeness, and wishes me to inform you that her business elsewhere is nearly concluded. She prays that you will grant her just a little more patience and thanks you for your time."

Escanor recovered himself quickly, offering the tidy little dwarf a warm smile before saying, "But of course. Silverymoon is no hamlet – doubtless the esteemed Lady has matters far more pressing than these. We continue to be grateful to her for accepting us here."

"Not at all," murmured the dwarf advisor placidly, and with another of his small bows he excused himself.

Rapha was up in arms the moment the door had closed behind him. "This is unacceptable. Must we continue to wait? It is clear that Alustriel has no intention of honoring the Most High's generous proposal with a response. Let us declare war upon this hovel and be done with it."

"We will do no such thing," snapped Escanor. "Now hold your tongue, young brother. I refuse to allow your ill temper to cost Shade this alliance."

"The First Prince's words carry great wisdom," Lamorak agreed. "Be at peace."

Melegaunt, who had been on the verge of dozing off for the last several minutes, suddenly sat up a bit straighter. "The Lady comes now."

The great double doors separating the private audience chamber from the rest of the east wing of the Ivory Tower were thrown open then, and Alustriel hurried in. The moment she was among them it was clear that something was amiss; her protuberant emerald eyes were wild with fear, her face was a shade whiter than was considered normal, and her breathing was rapid and shallow. Melegaunt and Lamorak leapt to their feet in alarm, but Escanor threw out an arm to keep them in place. "My Lady, what – "

Alustriel held out a hand, palm up, to stay his words; her fingers were trembling slightly. "Prince Escanor, please inform the Most High upon your return to Thultanthar that I accept his offer of alliance."

Escanor could not contain his shock. "Truly?!"

"I will negotiate my terms at a later date." Alustriel's eyes flashed then – in warning? "I will do all that I may to satisfy your monarch – I beg of you, leave these people be. Silverymoon is a good place, filled with good people. I only wish that no harm come to them."

The First Prince glanced over his shoulder at his three brothers, not at all surprised to find them wearing expressions identical to his own – complete and utter perplexity. Turning back to face The Lady of Silverymoon Escanor spread his hands and shook his head slowly as he said, "Has there been a misunderstanding, Lady? Allow me to remind you that this offer of alliance is a peaceable one. You and your subjects are in no danger - there is no reason to be wary. The Most High would never wish for you to accept his proposal out of fear."

Alustriel's face darkened, and suddenly her rage was impossible to misread. "Did you speak similar words to the Masked Lords of Waterdeep?"

Unease curled in the pit of Escanor's stomach as he dropped his hands, and his brow furrowed as he insisted, "Forgive me, Lady, but I do not understand."

"I have just spoken to Open Lord Piergieron Paladinson, who was aware that your delegation would be arriving today to speak with me." Alustriel narrowed her eyes. "He has informed me that the Princes of Shade declared war upon Waterdeep – moments after they murdered the Masked Lords in cold blood!"

The awful howl still reverberating in his ears Hadrhune all but lunged himself at the broken window, just as Aveil Arthien reached it and gripped the twisted frame with both hands to keep herself from swooning. Her hair was matted to her forehead and damp with sweat, her face as white as newly fallen snow; Hadrhune seized her hands in his own and nearly recoiled from her when flesh met flesh, for she was chilled to the bone and brought to mind a corpse.

"What has happened?!" Hadrhune barked, and with his index finger he tipped her chin back in an attempt to look her in the eye. Aveil's normally luminous violet pupils were dull and somehow lifeless – the sight terrified him in a way he could not express. "Aveil, look at me! Are you alright?!"

When at last her eyes settled upon his Aveil drew in a shuddering breath, as though shocked to see him there. "Oh," she breathed, the syllable saturated with relief. "It's you." And then she fell limp, leaving the seneschal with no choice but to haul the slight sorceress through the warped window frame and into his arms.

Without the half elf to fill the window, Hadrhune at last had a clear view of just what had caused her to collapse. A translucent figure hovered near Aveil's now-vacant bed, barely more corporeal than a wraith; it turned slowly to face Hadrhune as the seneschal backed quickly away from the window, and the shock of the amber eyes that so resembled his own nearly caused the seneschal to gasp aloud. The shadowy form drifted nearer to the window before blinking out of sight for a moment, only to reappear outside of Aveil's home leaning almost nonchalantly against the twisted window frame. The misty figure was slight of build and of medium height, with a cruel grin and the dark skin of a drow.

Quickly, Hadrhune came to understand. "You are Lim Tal'eyve, are you not?"

The translucent apparition stood a little straighter at those words, as though surprised to have been identified so readily. He cocked his head to regard Hadrhune curiously as he crossed his arms over his incorporeal chest, his amber eyes narrowed into quizzical slits. "I confess myself to be in disbelief – I was certain none in Neverwinter would be mindful of my coming, or be acquainted with me at all. Who, may I ask, are you?"

"Who I am is of no consequence to you," Hadrhune snarled. "All you need know is that I am about to end this cursed half-life your lesser goddess has granted you."

The wraith's upper lip curled back over his teeth as he bared them, but otherwise he made no hostile moves. "Lesser goddess, you say? How ironic that you, clearly a member of the Netherese Imperium and thus a worshipper of Shar, would consider yourself above me. Have you suffered not one death, but two? Have you endured years of unending torture at the hands of the Spider Queen, surviving only for the hope that perhaps one day you will be granted another chance at securing your redemption? I am Lim Tal'eyve, you foolish creature, and nothing will keep me from accomplishing what I came here to do!"

Hadrhune considered this very carefully before wording his response. "It is true that I have never died, pitiful spirit – though I confess that once I was unmade, and reborn the soulless creature that now stands before you. As for suffering… well, I endured seventeen decades of endless night within the Realm of Shadow. Is there anything else so dreadful in all the world?"

Lim Tal'eyve threw his head back and laughed; the sound was a shriek like a banshee's but as formless as his body, with no real substance behind it. His expression was more agreeable when next he regarded Hadrhune. "I have decided that I like you. Tell me your name, that I may tell the exalted Lady Lolth just who was stupid enough to lay down his life in the defense of a murdering, treasonous wretch like Aveil Arthien."

With exaggerated care Hadrhune bent at the waist and laid Aveil's body out on the sun-warmed cobblestones, and when he smoothed the damp strands of dark hair away from her forehead her eyes fluttered open, searching wildly for him. One of her ice-cold hands darted out and seized the collar of his shadow shroud as he began to draw back, and before he could ease her back down Aveil had her lips at his ear.

"Don't," she pleaded weakly, a tremor in her voice. "Stay away from him, I beg of you. He is the most foul… The darkest, most loathsome creature.…"

"That is where you are mistaken, Lady Arthien," murmured Hadrhune, and with one hand he easily broke her grip upon his shroud and eased her back down into a more comfortable position. When he was certain that she would not attempt to rise a second time he straightened, and his ceremonial fangs flashed white in the sun when he finished, "It is I who is most foul."

Then he rounded on the wraith that was Lim Tal'eyve and lifted his darkstaff, saying, "I am Hadrhune, the Right Hand of Most High Telamont Tanthul, and by the High Prince's decree I will protect this woman with my life."

The smirk Lim wore widened with each word spoken, until he was openly chuckling by the end of Hadrhune's self-introduction; he regarded the seneschal's darkstaff mildly, as though hardly concerned with the power the staff was enchanted with, before uncrossing his arms and standing up a little straighter. "I do indeed like you, Hadrhune. You are proof that Aveil's reach extends higher than even I had dreamed. And when the Spider Queen has restored me both body and soul I will be certain to tell your High Prince that his trusted emissary died needlessly!"

With that the wraith that was Lim Tal'eyve disintegrated into millions of shadowy particles, leaving only his laugh to suggest that he was still very real and very, very deadly.

The journey through the Shadow Realm was quite long; twice Soleil felt her body begin to fatigue and her grip upon Clariburnus's arm start to weaken, so that near the end of their shadow-walk Clariburnus had no choice but to throw one arm around her to keep her rooted close to his side. Being of the Material Plane with no physical ties to the Shadow Realm meant that Soleil was susceptible to the dark matter that was the overall composition of that plane – Telamont had warned his sons long ago that if Soleil was ever lost while they walked upon that dark plane that it would be next to impossible to recover her. When at last they reached their destination Soleil gulped in great lungfuls of fresh air gratefully, leaning most of her weight heavily against Clariburnus as he kept her from collapsing.

"Are you alright?" asked the Fifth Prince concernedly.

Soleil lifted her head and nodded, albeit a little weakly. "I hadn't anticipated the journey to be quite so taxing. I'll be alright in a moment."

"I set a grueling pace," Aglarel admitted, his face hidden beneath his cowl as usual. "I apologize."

Dethud stood at the head of their group with Yder only a step behind him; their backs were turned to their fellow council members as they surveyed the area, until Dethud's little-heard voice wafted back to them in its hushed undertone. "We have little time to rest… Doubtless our quarry has already sensed our presence, and may be even less welcoming than we had originally anticipated if we do not move quickly. Simply traversing the terrain to reach the wyrm will be a difficulty in itself."

Soleil found this explanation puzzling and lifted her head to study their new surroundings. Only when she pushed her comprehension beyond her own personal fatigue did she realize that the air veritably smoldered around them, and squinting through the gloom she came to understand why. The great red dragon Shaepulanderex had made its lair at the base of an active composite volcano, one of many such phenomena that dotted the landscape of the Dragon Coast. Even now the volcano was oozing magma; the white-hot substance ran past them in small rivulets, and ash fell from the sky like snowflakes.

Aglarel motioned for them to draw near, and the five of them gathered around to discuss their plan of attack. "Dethud, you have prepared the necessary enchantments?"

"Wards against fire," the necromancer rasped, his voice barely more than a whisper, and with a wave of his black hand he enacted the protective magics around himself and his kin. For a moment their bodies appeared to be outlined in a thin crimson haze, and then they all returned to their natural appearances. "The red dragon utilizes fire as its breath weapon, as I am certain you all know. The ward is strong and will withstand all but the hottest temperatures – it will not protect you if you are struck at point-blank range, or if you are dense enough to fall into the lava."

Yder and Clariburnus snickered at this, but Soleil was too nervous to join in. Fourth Prince Aglarel's eyes fell upon her appraisingly when he asked, "And your link is strong enough?"

The mountebank closed her eyes, mentally stretching out her empathetic link the way one might physically test the elasticity of a rubber band. Only High Prince Telamont knew that her link to each member of the Shadow Council varied in strength, a secret that she had kept ever since making the discovery on her own. Certain of the Princes of Shade she could feel subconsciously at all times, even when hundreds of miles separated them, and still others she had to make a conscious effort to hone in on at all. The pull she felt to her sovereign was by far and away the strongest – she had long since considered Telamont her father figure, and her love for him was, in a word, endless – and even as distant as the Most High was she could still feel that he was safe within the confines of the Palace Most High. Twin princes Mattick and Vattick were the next easiest to trace, as they had worked the hardest to make Soleil feel welcome within their ranks from the very start and were the closest to brothers she had ever known, and almost immediately afterward she felt Hadrhune's presence in Neverwinter. Her discipline faltered when she considered her link to Hadrhune, for it was evident right away that he was in more physical danger than any among them.

"Hadrhune has met resistance in Neverwinter," she murmured, her voice uneasy, and beside her Clariburnus squeezed her arm tightly at the base of her elbow.

"Do not lose focus," the Fifth Prince beseeched her, and Soleil battled back the natural instinct to aid Hadrhune and stretched her empathetic link out even further. The warm pinprick of light in her subconscious that she associated with First Prince Escanor's presence came as a relief to her then, and almost simultaneously she felt Brennus and Clariburnus fall into the radius of her influence, the two truest friends she had had in her life.

"I have you," she said to Clariburnus, and with a great surge of willpower she forced the canopy of her empathetic link out even wider, searching for the rest of her companions to bring under her protection.

Aglarel came into her comprehension next, for she had trained in the art of stealth under him for many years and was at the very least familiar with the air of mystery she associated with his presence. She felt Lamorak and Melegaunt faintly afterward, for they had always been friendly with her and she enjoyed their company; she was acquainted with Dethud perhaps the least of all of Telamont's sons, but because she held no reservations against him and he stood only ten feet from her she could feel him all the same. She held little love for Rivalen, Rapha, and Yder, but with one last shove at her mental discipline she managed to drag Yder into the comprehension of her link also. Distance was too great of a factor for her to include Rivalen and Rapha, but she supposed that this was good enough for the time being.

At length Soleil opened her eyes again. "I have all four of you. Aside from the disturbances I feel associated with Hadrhune's presence, the others seem to be safe enough."

"And the Most High?" inquired Yder.

"Safe," Soleil assured. "Watching and waiting at the world window, it seems."

"Then let us commence," Aglarel told them. "Doubtless this encounter will play out in the manner that the Most High suspects: the wyrm will grant us audience but should have little interest at forming a lasting alliance with Thultanthar, in which case we will annihilate him. According to reports, Shaepulanderex commands the largest army of chromatic dragons know to the Dragon Coast – if the red wyrm falls to us, it is likely that the rest of its kin will pledge themselves to Shade if only to preserve their lives."

"They will surely demand compensation for the promise of their allegiance," Yder pointed out, but Aglarel waved a hand negligently as though this was a matter of little importance.

"There will be riches aplenty to divide amongst those faithful to the High Prince," said Aglarel disdainfully, as though disgusted at the prospect of buying allies for Shade. "The Most High has little love for things such as wealth, and will be willing to part with it easily. Power and prestige are the things that he craves." And beckoning to them the Fourth Prince led the way up the winding foothills toward the blunt plateau where Shaepulanderex had made its lair.

The gentle slope on the south side of the volcano leveled out into a relatively flat shelf of volcanic rock, which over time Shaepulanderex had hollowed out into an alcove to serve as sleeping quarters. Lava poured down one side of the parasitic cone that sheltered the great dragon from the elements, pooling off to one side and forming a small lake of molten fire. The dragon's trove, they suspected, was nearer to the summit, perhaps even situated in the vent to discourage thieves from stealing the dragon's treasures. Shaepulanderex was awaiting their arrival the moment they crested the plateau, its great spiked tail waving lazily in the air behind its massive reclining body.

It occurred to Soleil the moment she set eyes upon the elder red dragon that she had never engaged one of its kind in combat before.

Aglarel signaled for the others to stay put and took a few steps toward the great wyrm to distinguish himself from the rest of the group; as he isolated himself from them Soleil could feel her link to him growing ever more poignant, the urge to protect him instinctual and strong. The Fourth Prince bent at the waist in a bow, though he never exposed the back of his neck to the dragon. "Felicitations, mighty wyrm. I am Fourth Prince Aglarel of Thultanthar, and I am here with a delegation of Most High Telamont's most trusted advisors to seek out a peaceable alliance between the City of Shade and the army of the Dragon Coast."

Shaepulanderex lifted its head and surveyed them with golden eyes filled with a kind of malevolent wisdom, its nostrils flaring as though it was considering roasting them with its flame. For the first time Soleil found herself silently praying that Dethud's ward against fire would be strong enough to protect them. "Thultanthar?" rumbled Shaepulanderex, cocking its head to one side as it considered the term. "Yes, I am familiar with the City of Shade. I have heard tidings of its grandeur, and of your monarch's insatiable lust for power. He insults me by sending such rabble to negotiate the terms of an alliance."

Yder gritted his teeth mutinously and stalked one vengeful step forward, but Clariburnus wisely threw out an arm and caught him at the chest. Soleil threw every ounce of her mental focus into maintaining strong links with the four of them, pleased when she was able to hone in easily on Yder's heartrate as it accelerated in time with his escalating rage. She also felt the slight stiffening of Aglarel's posture at the dragon's words, but otherwise the Fourth Prince kept his feelings in check rather admirably.

"Were the Most High among us, I am certain he would apologize for not seeing you himself," Aglarel said coolly. "Unfortunately, the High Prince rarely leaves Shade Enclave himself. Thultanthar is feared far and wide, and there is no end to those who would end his existence if given the fraction of an opportunity. Surely you can understand the High Prince's desire for self-preservation."

"Indeed," grumbled the dragon, though he still seemed sullen at meeting with the lesser nobles of Shade Enclave. "So you have come here at your monarch's command to beg me to join forces with you, is that it?"

"That is more or less our purpose here," answered the Fourth Prince disdainfully.

Shaepulanderex stretched its wings luxuriously, and the delegation from Shade marveled at the creature's impressive wingspan; it then yawned as though quite bored with the proceedings, and its teeth, they noticed, were razor-sharp and longer than any one of their arms from shoulder to fingertip. Neither of these seemingly mundane actions were simply coincidental, they knew – the dragon was wordlessly intimidating them. "What is it that your magocracy can offer me, do you suppose, that would interest me to the point of pledging to you my entire army? Scores of dragons are seldom won over by words alone, and promises mean little to creatures as long lived as we are. The price we will demand for our services will be very high, I assure you – just how much is your monarch prepared to pay?"

"Name your price," Aglarel responded idly. "If it is merely a question of monetary value, rest assured the Most High will certainly exceed your expectations with his generosity."

"My price is a king's ransom in gold and jewels," Shaepulanderex demanded, "and an equal share of the Heartlands, should Thultanthar succeed in its conquest."

Aglarel rocked back a step as though he had been shoved as behind him Soleil sucked in a breath of unspeakable shock. Wealth and riches were abundant to the Netherese archwizards who claimed rulership of the City of Shade – after all, they were one of the longest lived races yet alive upon Faerun, and they coveted priceless treasures whose origins were exotic and unknown. But if the dragons of Shaepulanderex's army were expecting to lay claim to half of the Heartlands when Telamont's grand conquest at last proved successful, there was no question that the Princes of Shade would first attempt to take the dragon army by force.

Sensing that his brothers were seething at the dragon's audacity, Aglarel spoke his mind quickly as a way of staving off their insults. "You will have your king's ransom and more, wyrm - if that is what your heart truly desires, the Most High will see it done. But you are foolish beyond your many millennia of life if you think you can stake your claim on the Heartlands and expect to be rewarded thusly when all is said and done. These are countries that rightfully belong to the descendants of the Netherese – which of course my three brothers here and I most definitely are – and I speak for all of them when I say that we have not shed sweat and blood and tears over the course of the last seventeen decades to see our homeland delivered into the hands of the unworthy. No, great dragon – the Heartlands belong to the Netherese Imperium, and if that is your price I am afraid that the Most High will most certainly decline your proposal. We can offer your kind riches and glory beyond your wildest dreams, but the soil of the Heartlands… That is something that is not up for negotiation."

Shaepulanderex whipped its tail and snarled, shooting small sparks of flame from its flaring nostrils. "Do you name me unworthy, shadow-dweller?!"

Aglarel glared up at the great red dragon, his silver eyes flashing angrily when he said, "If you would name yourself usurper of the lands that rightfully belong to the descendents of Netheril, unworthy is only the first of the things that I would name you."

The Fourth Prince's words would serve as the catalyst for their battle with the wyrm, for in the next instant Shaepulanderex roared and lashed his tail out to strike at them; the four princes dissolved into shadow particles in order to avoid it, and Soleil had little difficulty activating her ring and jaunting to a safer location. They met at the base of the volcano, not far from the magma lake that was pooling off to one side, and the great red dragon spread its massive wings and took to the sky above them.

"At the ready!" barked Fourth Prince Aglarel, and he drew his ensorcelled dagger from a fold of his assassin's garb. "The ash will obscure the dragon from view."

Even as he said this Shaepulanderex dove from the thickening cloud of ash wreathing the volcano's crater, its cruel claws outstretched and its maw opened wide; it exhaled as it soared overhead, and the gout of flame engulfed Dethud and Yder as the wyrm raked at Clariburnus with its claws. The Fifth Prince managed to sidestep the claws and thrust his glaive upward, and the weapon pierced the scaly flesh of the dragon's claw. It roared and emitted another cone of fire from its open jaws; the intense heat washed over Soleil's face as she stared on in a kind of terrified awe, and before any of them could rally into the offensive the dragon beat its wings and lifted itself out of their reach.

When the smoke and flames had mostly cleared it was plain to see that Dethud's robes were badly singed; he was holding a thin obsidian wand in the fingers of his right hand, and his expression was stony. "It seems I underestimated the strength of this wyrm… It must be far more wizened than I imagined. Avoid its flames at all costs – the protective enchantments I cast will not be enough to save me a second time."

Soleil extended a hand out to Clariburnus, saying, "Hold on to me. If I focus hard enough and time the move just right, I may be able to get us onto the dragon's back."

"The Night Mother be with you," Aglarel told them, in a tone that suggested he did not wholly approve of the proposed course of action, but the dragon was even then plummeting through the thick cloak of ash toward them and so Clariburnus chose to ignore it. He thrust his hand into Soleil's and the mountebank lifted her free hand, the dark sapphires set in the jet band flashing crimson in the light from the boiling magma, and they vanished from the spot.

There was a terrible moment during which both the mountebank and the Fifth Prince experienced a free-falling sensation, and then their feet touched ground about halfway up the dragon's spine. The jaunt through the trans-dimensional rift was instantaneous, and they found that Shaepulanderex was just about to complete his dive; the dragon inhaled deeply and they could feel its external temperature rising as it prepared to utilize its killing fire –

Clariburnus hefted his glaive and stabbed the black glass head deep into the dragon's back; the weapon tore through the intricate overlapping red scales and punctured the tender flesh beneath, wringing an agonized cry from the wyrm and throwing the creature's flight path slightly off-balance. Soleil clung to the Fifth Prince's middle as Shaepulanderex spasmed mid-flight, and with his glaive Clariburnus kept them both rooted to the spot as below Fourth Prince Aglarel and Sixth Prince Yder lashed out with daggers and chakra. Aglarel managed to stab his poisoned-tip dagger deeply enough into the palm of the dragon's claw that he could use the weapon as leverage to hoist himself off the ground, and as the wyrm frantically beat its wings to regain altitude the Fourth Prince swung himself precariously over the dragon's cruel claws and gained his footing upon its spindly front leg.

Soleil released Clariburnus as he tore the glaive free, spattering the wyrm's crimson scales with its own lifeblood, before thrusting the weapon down again, this time many inches deeper than the first puncture. The dragon's resulting shriek was deafening, prompting Soleil to clap her hands over her delicate ears. She almost didn't hear Clariburnus when he bellowed, "Get to its head! Aglarel will need your help!"

The mountebank was off and running, following the severe ridges of the dragon's spine up to its prominent black horns, and she had almost reached her destination when Shaepulanderex rolled right over in mid-air. Clariburnus remained rooted to the spot by his glaive and Aglarel clung easily to the dragon's grasping claws, but Soleil had nothing to secure herself to and plummeted for the ground.

She may have found the mental discipline to jaunt through another trans-dimensional rift and deliver herself to safety upon the ground, but the dreaded dragon chose that precise moment to swing its great body right side up and inhale in preparation for its next breath attack; beads of flame wreathed the dragon's nostrils, smoke trickled from between the wyrm's blade-like teeth –

Soleil's empathetic link to the Princes of Shade nearly tore her apart the moment after when it stretched in four different directions, compelling her to give all of herself and more in defense of the Most High's progeny.

What occurred as a result of that need was something that Soleil herself could not explain.

Turning over in mid-air the mountebank came face to face with the terrible wyrm, and in the face of its smirking superiority she sucked in a sharp breath to brace herself; the instant Shaepulanderex exhaled the molten flame from its lungs Soleil's lips parted as if to emit a scream, but instead another sound entirely could be heard. It may have been a word or two, but the syllables were unlike any language the Princes of Shade had ever heard. The voice itself sounded nothing like the confident but undeniably feminine timbre they were used to hearing when Soleil spoke: the voice she used now was all guttural, almost otherworldly tones, the tremor of something ancient and strong present in every inflection. The words she spoke echoed off the slope of the volcano and sent tremors running down their spines; it sent flecks of lava splashing away from the magma deposit at the volcano's base, and the princes felt the words deep down in their chests. And then something else happened that prompted the Most High's sons to regard the Left Hand of the Most High with nothing short of awe: Soleil's words transformed themselves into pure arcane power, and from her parted lips erupted a killing blast of sheer unbearable cold. It collided with the cone of flame that the dragon had breathed – tiny tendrils of ice snaked up the magma, solidifying it at a shocking rate – before rendering the dragon's breath weapon absolutely useless. Shards of frozen lava fell from the sky and rained down upon the ground, and in the span of only six heartbeats Soleil had encased the entirety of the dragon's body in an impenetrable layer of ice.

Aglarel and Clariburnus managed to spirit themselves into the safety of the Shadow Realm just instants before they too became trapped in the ice, joining their two younger brothers on the ground; Soleil at last regained the presence of mind to jaunt through the extra-dimensional space created by her ensorcelled ring, and she materialized in between Aglarel and Dethud just as the frozen dragon crashed to the ground and shattered into millions of pieces.

"By the Moon," breathed Aglarel, because there simply wasn't anything else to say.

Hadrhune breathed deeply and allowed his eyes to drift closed, relying solely upon his keen sense of hearing and his attunement to all things magical to locate the essence of Lim Tal'eyve. Even despite the numerous outside distractions the seneschal could veritably feel the lichdrow's malicious presence lingering in the air all around him, perhaps searching for the most opportune place to solidify… The only other disturbance strong enough to impede upon Hadrhune's concentration was Aveil's slight breathing as she hovered between the waking world and unconsciousness. He wanted to go to her; he wanted to make ensuring her safety his first and foremost priority.

But the Most High had charged him with thwarting Lim Tal'eyve, and that singular order made all of Hadrhune's personal desires suddenly obsolete.

The lichdrow's hazy form became visible about ten feet away and far to Hadrhune's left side; the seneschal opened his eyes, and snapping his gaze in that direction he brought the darkstaff to bear and let loose a bolt of jet-black lightning. The bolt seemed to slice right through the lichdrow's partially-corporeal form, but upon impact Lim Tal'eyve merely dissolved into dozens of particles of midnight again.

"_Fool_," whispered the lichdrow's disembodiless voice, seeming to echo from every which direction. "_This life I have is a cursed half one, do you not recall? Conventional methods cannot stop the Spider Queen's wraith._"

He reappeared a second time, now barely five feet from the Most High's favored shadow sorcerer; Hadrhune growled low between gritted teeth and lashed out with his non-dominant hand, raking through the lichdrow's translucent image with the transmuted serrated shadow claws. He felt rather than saw the moment when his wicked claws passed through something that was perhaps a little denser than air, but if the strike caused the lichdrow any sort of discomfort he did not react to it; an explosion of shadowy particles was all Hadrhune had to show for his efforts.

"_You waste your time_!" howled Lim Tal'eyve. "_I will have her_!"

Hadrhune reflexively took a step backward, nearer to the spot where Aveil lay unconscious upon the sun-baked cobblestones. "If I spent as much time talking and as little time acting as you do, the Most High would have no use for me. I find it amusing that your wretched Spider Queen places so much stock in such an incompetent subordinate."

The wraith's resulting shriek was enough to make the seneschal's blood run cold, and when next he appeared he was close enough to reach out and make physical contact. Before Hadrhune could flinch away the lichdrow's hand had passed through his shoulder and seemed to melt deep into his chest; there followed a terrifying sensation as though the dark orb Hadrhune retained that served as a heart were being enveloped by the lichdrow's translucent hand, and then a pulse of pure sunlight erupted from Lim Tal'eyve's hand into the center of the seneschal's being.

It was agony unlike anything Hadrhune had ever experienced, rivaled only by the moment he had traded his soul for the very essence of shadow; the blast of light crippled him from the inside out, sapping him of his strength and forcing him to his knees. He crumpled to the ground with a thin moan of protest, barely clinging to life.

Lim Tal'eyve's essence regained its shape then, kneeling over the once-great shadow sorcerer as he studied his handiwork. "An incompetent subordinate would have had much more difficulty laying low the Right Hand of the Most High… wouldn't you agree?" Then he turned his attention upon Aveil, who had yet to regain consciousness, and bared his teeth in a malevolent, victorious grin. "And now, Lady Arthien… where were we?"

He reached out and laid one hand almost lovingly against the wizard's pale cheek, and almost immediately it seemed that her skin grew whiter. In response to the extended contact Aveil's body began to seem much less corporeal; her skin faded and became slightly see-through, as at precisely the same moment the essence of Lim Tal'eyve brightened and came into a somewhat sharper focus.

He was going to steal the life from her, until there was nothing left for him to steal.

Hadrhune fought groggily within his own unresponsive body, vaguely aware of the terrible deed that was occurring right in front of him but powerless to change it. He thought of the Most High and how he would unleash the full weight of his terrible wrath if he learned that his trusted emissary failed to accomplish what he had charged him with. He thought of the plague that would surely be released upon the face of Faerun if Lim Tal'eyve returned to the world of the living. He thought of the chaos that would follow in the lichdrow's wake as he carried out the every whim of his depraved Spider Queen. But most of all he thought of the woman lying next to him and how if he could not find the strength to act, she would certainly pass out of this world and leave him alone with nothing but his inconsolable wrath to give him comfort.

Reaching deep within himself Hadrhune found the strength to act; he was far too weak to use magic of any kind and the location of his darkstaff was unknown to him, and so he did the only thing he could think to do – he flung himself over Aveil's motionless body and groped for the lichdrow's hand. The moment the contact with Aveil was broken her body began to warm and color slowly returned to her cheeks; already deep in the throes of leeching the life from his chosen vessel, Lim Tal'eyve was powerless to stop the flow of energy now coming off of Hadrhune.

He had only one choice. He recoiled.

The flow of life energy was suddenly broken; Lim Tal'eyve's body paled and dissolved back into thousands of shadow particles, scattered away upon a light breeze, and abruptly it was silent in the sunlit pavilion of Neverwinter.

Aveil hefted herself up onto one elbow and rolled the seneschal over onto his back. The darkness enchantments he had cast upon himself in order to sustain his shade's body against the sunlight were beginning to unravel; beneath the clouds of billowing shadow Hadrhune seemed frail and fragile, his breathing slight. She laid a hand upon the shaft of his treasured darkstaff but snatched her hand back almost instantly as a strong electric current jolted through her fingertips – she should have known that the Most High had enchanted the staff of his chosen emissary to respond only to the seneschal's touch. Instead she quickly plucked a strand of black gossamer from a small pouch of spell components and uttered a swift trigger phrase, and the protective shadows enveloping Hadrhune's body suddenly grew considerably darker.

Two slits of amber appeared within the clouds of darkness – Hadrhune's eyes, now the only physical feature that remained visible. "Save… your strength."

"What are you doing here?!" Aveil demanded angrily, but the brightness of her eyes and the color rising in her cheeks belied her true feelings. "What in the Nine Hells do you think you are doing?! Did I not tell you that crossing paths with Lim Tal'eyve could lead only to ruin?!"

An anemic-sounding chuckle was the seneschal's only response.

Aveil felt around within the billowing clouds of darkness for Hadrhune's hand, shocked at just how cold it was when she located it, and held it close to her chest. "We have thwarted him temporarily, it's true, but… at what cost? We must get you out of the sunlight… can you stand?"

An ear-ringing silence followed Aveil's words, and panic gripped her heart like a vice; she dropped one hand down upon the seneschal's chest, and there was no rise and fall.

"H-Hadrhune?"

She slid her hand up his chest, along the gentle curve of his neck and over his cheek until her fingertips hovered near his nostrils; she waited the span of ten heartbeats, and never once did she feel the stirring of his breath upon her palm. She cried his name as the tears began to fall from her eyes, and though she cast her frantic gaze all around there wasn't a soul to be found in the empty sprawling streets of Neverwinter. That left her with only one choice.

It was the favor of the goddess Mystra that had bestowed upon Aveil the ability to harness the magic of the Shadow Weave, though of course she had told not a soul how she had come by such powers. The ability to shadow walk through that little-traversed realm was a skill that very few of Shar's faithful were privy to, much less anyone who worshiped Shar's most hated enemy, but Aveil's accolade of Dark Chosen of Mystra granted her powers she normally wouldn't have access to. She knew full well what this decision would cost her, but the only other alternative was to let the seneschal die and she could not allow that.

Aveil gathered Hadrhune into her arms as best she could, tucking his lolling head in close to her shoulder, and sought the nearest rift in the Material Plane that would grant her admittance to the Plane of Shadow; upon locating it she compelled her weary body to rise, and they passed into the darkness of that unstable realm together.

Lingering near the world window in the Palace Most High, Telamont Tanthul recalled the cryptic tidings of Dark Lady Shar. It occurred to him as he was watching his carefully-laid plans fall by the wayside that things were playing out precisely as the Goddess of the Night had intended, leaving him to wonder how many of his loved ones would lose their lives this day, and whether the Netherese Imperium was meant to rise again at all.


End file.
